Sideways
by GoldenUsagi
Summary: AU. Spike’s a vampire who’ll do anything if he’s paid enough. Buffy’s a girl who needs protection. She slowly realizes he’s more than he seems, but more is going on than meets the eye, and everything changes when she’s called as the Slayer. Spuffy B/S
1. Problems

A/N: Awards this story has won and is nominated for. Thank you for all your support! **Fang Fetish R8:** _Best Alternate Reality, Best Angst, Runner Up Best WIP. _**Rogue Poet R4:**_ Best Plot, Runner Up Best WIP. _**Spuffy R14:** _Best General Saga Reader's, Best General Angst Judge's, Judge's Pick, (nominated Best General Romance)._ **Rogue Poet R5, 'Best Round':** _Best Plot Readers Choice._ **SunnyD R15:** _Best New Author, Best Spuffy Angst, Best AU, Best Drama, Best Unfinished._ **Rogue Poet R6:** _Runner Up Best Characterization._ **Spuffy R15:** _Most Original Plot Judge's, Judge's Pick._ **Running with Scissors R4:** _Runner Up Best WIP._ **Spark and Burn R5:** _Runner Up Best Alternate Reality, Best Alternate Reality Reader's, (nominated Best WIP)._ **Spark and Burn R6:** _Currently nominated for: Best Plot, Best Angst, Best Spike Characterization, and Best New Author.

* * *

_

Buffy was not happy.

But then, kidnapping attempts tended to put a person on edge.

"This is getting ridiculous," she said, slumping into the sofa with her arms crossed. "Ridiculously scary, that is."

Her mother was hovering behind her. "Hank, you've got to do something. She was nearly killed!"

"Not so much killed," Buffy put in, "as kidnapped. So hey, look on the bright side. Could have been worse, right? Nothing to worry about at all. I must be imagining things," she finished with a fake smile.

"This isn't a joke, Buffy," her father said.

He glared at her from his seat. Apparently sarcasm wasn't appreciated.

Buffy sat up straighter and scowled slightly. "I know that. I was there. I was the one who had people grabbing at me, not you. I know it's not a joke. You're the one who's been treating it as unimportant."

"It's been unimportant."

"Yeah. People following me, watching me—completely okay. Gotcha."

"I meant—"

"You meant you thought I was blowing things out of proportion. Well, now you know I'm not."

"The point," Joyce interjected, "is that we need to find out who's behind this, at least get someone on it. Right, Hank?"

Buffy tilted her head to glance behind her. Her mother had her arms folded, with one finger absently tapping her elbow. Across the room, her father was doing that thing with his eyebrows. Definite squaring off stance.

The room was suddenly thick with tension, and Buffy sullenly wondered which of them was going to break it first, or whether this would erupt into another full-scale argument over nothing. Well, maybe not nothing this time, but a parental shout fest was the last thing she was in the mood for.

"Fine," her father said after a minute. "I'll go make some calls." Then he went into his office and shut the door. Rather loudly shut the door.

It was silent for a moment, and Buffy craned her neck up, looking over the back of the sofa. "Mom?"

"What, honey?"

"You believed me, didn't you?"

Joyce moved to sit down next to her. "I believed you when you said that you were being followed. Unfortunately, that sort of thing happens sometimes on campuses. But I never expected this could happen."

"Yeah, neither did I. And of course Dad didn't. He doesn't even care," Buffy said. "Not really. It's just a big inconvenience to him, something else he has to deal with."

"He does care, sweetheart. Maybe he wasn't worried before, but he is now."

"Yeah, takes a kidnapping attempt for him to notice anything."

"You know his job—"

"Please, Mom. You argue with him all the time about the job. Don't use it as a defense."

"All right, honey, I won't. So how about this? Maybe his having some connections will pay off, hmm?"

Buffy ventured a small smile. "Yeah, maybe it will." She paused. "God, I feel awful. I think maybe I need a bubbly bath to recharge my Buffy battery."

* * *

After going into his office, Hank sat down at the desk and stared out the window for several minutes. Once he felt collected, he opened a drawer and pulled out his private rolodex.

He dialed the number he needed and a moment later, a girl answered.

"Bryce Agency, how may I help you?"

"Yes, I need to speak to the person in charge."

"Hold on a moment, please."

After a short silence, a cultured voice spoke. "This is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, how may I be of service?"

"I've got a problem," he started. "And I hear that you're the people to go to for difficult problems."

"Well, we are discreet. And we have the means to handle some of the more…problematic situations that can arise. What, specifically, is your dilemma?"

"My daughter is being followed. Today, she was almost kidnapped."

"Ah." The voice sounded more relaxed. "Well, we could certainly handle that. How old is your daughter?"

"Nineteen."

"I see. Now, Mr.…?"

"Summers."

"Mr. Summers. We can help you, but as a professional courtesy, I must inform you that there are people who would take care of this for less. This generally isn't the sort of case we specialize in and—"

"I don't care. I was told that you're the best, and I want the best. No matter what."

"As you wish. May I inquire who referred you to us with such a high recommendation?"

"A…contact of mine."

"I see. Of course. Now, may I ask what the police had to say about—"

"I haven't told the police."

Wesley paused, noticing a catch in the other man's voice. "Surely it would be best if you employed all possible resources?"

"I know how the police work. They'll put a car outside the house for a night or two, and that'll be it. She needs protection. Real protection."

"Very well, Mr. Summers. We're a small staff of two and don't employ bodyguards ourselves, but I contract with many highly recommended—"

"I don't need highly recommended," he cut in. "I need the best."

"I understand your—"

"No, you don't! My little girl is in danger and I demand the best—"

"I happen to know the best," Wesley interrupted in turn, feeling slightly provoked. "However, he doesn't come cheaply—"

"I'll pay anything."

"—if he agrees at all."

"Doesn't he work for you?"

"No. As I said, we contract for these things. He takes contracts from whomever he wishes. In some instances, he simply isn't interested; in others, he doesn't think the money worth his time. He is very well compensated, but those who hire him are always satisfied. Of course, in addition to his price, you'll have my fee as well."

"I'll pay anything."

"Of course. Though you must realize that he may not be available. In which case, I'll be more than happy to arrange any of our other reliable associates."

"I want—"

"The best. Yes, I know." Wesley slowly exhaled. "Give me your number, Mr. Summers, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible," he said shortly. "Also, it would be helpful if you would fax over any other information you feel is relevant."

* * *

An hour later, Wesley had the faxes in hand. He had also talked to Mr. Summers again, gathering what relevant information he could. Wesley reviewed the sheets, pausing for a long moment after he was finished.

Then he picked up the phone and dialed. It rang several times before a clipped voice answered. "Yeah?"

"I've got a job you might be interested in."

"So what is it?" Spike asked.

"Protection."

A pause. "Not exactly my game, Watcher."

"You've done it before. Not for any of my clients, but you have. And very well, I daresay."

Wesley could practically hear him shrugging as he said his next words. "So let's have the rundown."

"College freshman at UCLA. She says she's been followed and watched for the past week or so. Today someone attempted to abduct her in a van. Naturally, she's upset."

"What'd you think of her?"

"I've only spoken to her father on the phone," Wesley said, glancing at the faxes. There was a miniature photo of the girl in one corner of the page. "She's small, blonde—your typical California girl. She lives with her parents, goes to class on weekdays, has no job, and likes to go shopping and clubbing on the weekends. No enemies known, and only one ex-boyfriend. Her father was…adamant about having nothing but the best for her, yet gave no reason why she would need such extreme precautions." He paused. "On the surface, it appears to be your average ransom plot."

"Rich bitch?"

"Her parents are well off, yes."

"But you don't think it'll be a ransom?"

"I'm not sure. Something seemed off."

"They hire you to watch her or go after the ones chasin' her?"

"Her father was very specific that he wanted a bodyguard. Naturally, my first inclination was that he needed her protected until the problem was solved, but for whatever reason, he doesn't wish to inform the police. He was insistent yet evasive, and obviously used to throwing his money and weight around. As it stands, he wants the best bodyguard possible and will pay, quote, anything."

There was a long silence. Then, "Fifteen hundred a day. That's my price for babysittin' Barbie."

Wesley was silent.

"Not my game, like I said. They'd better make it worth my while. He'll pay; he sounds like the type."

"Then I presume I can inform Mr. Summers of your terms?"

"That you can."

"Very well. Come by my office later tonight to get the details."

The line went dead.


	2. Conversations

_A/N: I have revised the first eighteen chapters. So if you happen to be rereading and wondering if something had always been there, the answer is probably not. I have not taken anything out or changed anything major, and have kept the chapter content the same, in order to not throw off the chapter numbers or the reviews. I have ended up adding a few scenes, but mainly there are smaller changes. Tighter point of view, conversation structure, more description, etc. These early chapters before Buffy becomes the Slayer have been bothering me for a while, and after much debating with myself, I decided to redo them. I felt that the tone and style didn't quite fit with the rest of the story, and I wanted the story as a whole to flow more naturally.

* * *

_

Buffy had hung up her phone over an hour ago. Now it sat on the bathroom rug, where she'd discarded it after calling Cordelia. She hadn't been able to relax until she'd rehashed the entire thing, including what Cordy already knew about her feeling creeped out on campus.

She glanced at the small clock next to the frosted glass windows. She'd been in the tub over two hours. Every time the bath began to get cool she turned on the faucet, adding scalding water and more bubbles.

Try as she might, she wasn't able to completely unwind. Images from the past two weeks—particularly from that day—kept spinning around in her head.

At first, it had just been a creepy feeling. That feeling of being watched. Walking around campus or downtown, she would suddenly just _know_ that someone was looking at her. A couple of times she thought she'd seen something, but had managed to convince herself otherwise, until recently. But she hadn't been able to do anything about it; there wasn't enough to file a report on. There wasn't any actual evidence at all.

Until today, when everything had suddenly come crashing into reality.

She had been walking in the parking lot when a man had grabbed her from behind and tried to drag her into a van. She'd managed to get his hand away from her mouth and had emitted a bloodcurdling scream she hadn't known she was capable of. Thrashing wildly, Buffy had kicked behind her, and realized she'd hit a vital spot when she felt his hold on her lessen. Apparently deciding that the opportune moment was quickly passing, he'd flung her roughly into a nearby car, and she had heard the mixed noises of the van speeding away and several sets of footsteps and voices.

"Are you all right?" "Call the cops!" "Miss? Miss?" "No license plate on it."

Buffy had gasped and stood, ignoring the people gathering around her. Running on automatic, her only thought had been of getting out of there. She had pushed past the small crowd, unlocked her car with shaking hands and sped home. Where her mother had taken one look at her and had known that something horrible had happened.

A knock on the bathroom door jolted Buffy out of her thoughts. "Honey?"

"It's okay, Mom!" she called.

Joyce entered the bathroom and leaned against the counter opposite the tub. "Well, I have some news. Your father's gotten a bodyguard for you."

"A bodyguard?" Buffy exclaimed. "You are kidding, right? Please be kidding."

Images of some six foot nine, three hundred pound man following her throughout the day flashed through Buffy's mind. Undoubtedly, he would have big dark glasses and a shaved head. Conspicuous much?

"Can't I just stay home and hide under the covers or something?"

"Buffy, we have no idea how long sorting out the rest of this might take. You can't just put your life on hold for days, and certainly not for weeks."

"Weeks?!"

"Your father has been talking with a man from some agency," she continued. "They've hired us the best. I know you might not like it, but you'll be safe. Surely that's more important in the big picture?"

"Yeah, but…"

"He's coming later tonight, so you can go over things with him before tomorrow."

"Tonight?"

"Yes, Buffy. Now, I've got to go get the guest room ready."

Joyce exited, shutting the door behind her, and Buffy sank down beneath the water.

Bodyguard. It just sounded so…James Bond. And how majorly weird would it be? 'Hi, I'm Buffy, and this is my bodyguard. Don't mind him, just pretend he's not there.'

There was no way this was going to work. Okay, so maybe not being kidnapped would be a plus, but a bodyguard? Seriously? What was wrong with just never leaving the house again?

Buffy came back up and sighed, wiping the bubbles from her face.

Then she added more hot water.

* * *

When Wesley closed his book and swiveled his chair around, he found a leather-clad figure smirking at him from across the desk.

"It would be appreciated if you would announce your presence," he snapped.

"And miss seein' you jump like a girl? Not bloody likely."

"They're expecting you tonight. Is that a problem?"

Spike shook his head.

Wesley continued. "This is the information they gave me, as well as the information I've collected myself." Then he paused, holding the folder closer to himself than to Spike. "Are you certain you're up for this?"

"What, keepin' some chit alive? Think I can handle it."

"Yes, well, I was referring to going to her classes, or perhaps not leaving the house—it isn't exactly going to be exciting."

"Until someone makes a grab for her."

"Perhaps. But it will be rather monotonous, I imagine. I suspect that you're not good with monotony."

He shrugged.

"Or with playing nice that long."

Spike laughed. "You afraid I'll get cabin fever and snap?"

"If I thought there was a possibility that you'd snap, I certainly never would have called you. But please, _attempt_ to be somewhat pleasant."

He snorted. "For fifteen hundred a day, I'll be a perfect gentleman. Been a while since I did somethin' this big." He reached out and took the folder, pulling out two sets of stapled papers. Spike casually flipped through them and then stuffed them in his pocket. "I'll save the readin' for later. So they don't know, I take it?"

"Of course not. Don't be absurd."

"Well, they called you."

"True. However, I have no reason to believe that there's anything supernatural involved." He frowned. "In fact, it's really not something I would have contacted you about."

"Then why did you?"

"I don't know. There does seem to be something strange going on, though I'm not entirely sure what. I do believe there's more than there seems to be."

He didn't respond, and Wesley couldn't help the slight frown that crossed his face again as Spike stared at him.

Spike grinned. "Still gets under your skin, don't it?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yeah, right. Dealin' with me irritates your indoctrinated learning. It may be good for business, but you're only sittin' here all cordial-like cause you know that any attempted killin' between us can only end one way."

"Among other reasons."

"Already had my chance, didn't I?" Spike smirked. "Don't worry, Watcher, I'm a man of my word. I'm not gonna kill you, not unless you start it."

"I know."

"Trust me, do you?"

"I trust you as far as I can pay you."

"That's the best kind." He stood. "Right. Y'know, if I'm gonna be there 'round the clock, I'm gonna need—"

Wesley sighed. "I'll take care of it."

He didn't even hear the door close when Spike left as silently as he had come.


	3. Introductions

Buffy was upstairs in her room when she heard the doorbell ring. She inwardly grimaced, but curiosity got the best of her, and she found herself hovering near the top of the stairs in order to get a first look. The idea of not coming out of her room had occurred to her (the idea of not going outside again period had occurred to her), but the last thing she wanted was a stranger witnessing a childish fit. Especially a stranger that she would have to deal with sooner or later.

The doorbell rang a second time, and she saw her father walk across from the dining room, muttering, "I'm coming, I'm coming."

Opening the door, Hank wasn't sure what he was expecting—beyond a vague impression of a secret service person who was always standing next to the President in movies—but what was on his doorstep wasn't it. With black leather, bleached hair, and yes, a motorcycle parked in the driveway, this guy looked more bad boy than bodyguard. "Eh," Hank stammered.

"Spike."

"Yes, ah, Spike, I spoke about you earlier to Mr….?" he said, purposely letting the name slide.

"Wyndam-Pryce."

"And how do I know you're actually acquainted with Mr. Pryce?"

"Cause if I wasn't, she'd already be dead," Spike said, sick of the testing game and ready to slip one of his own in. "Look mate, I'm easy. I'm not comin' in unless you say so, and I'm fine with gettin' back on my bike and headin' out. Up to you. Of course, I'll be keepin' my advance either way."

The man looked less indecisive at the mention of losing money, and after a few seconds he said, "C'mon in." He opened the door wider and moved aside for Spike, not noticing that he was wearing a pleased smirk as he crossed the threshold.

Spike set his small duffel bag down. "You got a little extra room in your garage for my bike?"

"It won't get stolen."

He raised an eyebrow. "No, but assumin' someone is watchin' the house, let's not advertise. Not that they won't figure it out sooner or later."

"Er, right. I'll open it up."

Buffy watched as her father went in the direction of the garage and Spike went back outside. And _Spike_? Was sort of name was that?

She sluggishly made her way down the stairs. The gaudy entryway chandelier had mostly blocked her view, so Buffy figured she might as well suck it up and head down unprepared.

After a moment, she heard them both coming back through the garage, and she paused a few steps from the bottom of the stairway. Her mother came out from the kitchen.

"Well, here he is," Hank said enthusiastically. "Spike, this is my wife Joyce, and daughter Buffy."

"Mr. Spike," Joyce said, holding out her hand.

"Just Spike," he said, brushing her fingers lightly.

"Oh. Of course. Well, here's Buffy." Joyce gestured to the stairs.

Spike turned his gaze to her, and Buffy froze for a split second. He was gorgeous. A definite eleven in the good looks department, once you got past the bleached hair and all the black. Though on second glance, it kind of worked. No, make that really worked. And men were not supposed to have cheekbones like that. It wasn't fair.

"So this is the girl all the mystery men are after," he said. And how did she not notice the accent before?

"Yeah, that's me," Buffy said dryly. Gorgeous or not, this was the guy who was going to follow her around for what she was sure would be the rest of her natural life. "So you're gonna protect me?" she asked, crossing her arms. "You're barely taller than I am."

"Buffy!" her father snapped. "He's highly recommended."

"What, I can't have doubts? A second ago you wouldn't even let him in the door."

"I'll just put your things in the guest room upstairs, Spike," her mother said. "Buffy, why don't you show him the house?"

Buffy would much rather not, but said, "Sure, whatever."

Spike followed the unenthusiastic girl throughout the luxurious house, sure he was being given the standard tour that middle and upper class America seemed to thrive on. On the ground floor there was the living room, den, office, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, utility room and garage. The second floor had the master bed and bath, her bedroom and bathroom, several guest rooms, an entertainment room, and an exercise room.

She obviously wasn't pleased with any recent events. Not that he supposed she would be. He'd caught a glimpse of her when he had first come in, a vague girl-shape obscured by the light fixture as she'd stood on the landing. Then she'd sulked on the stairway, with defensive posture and aggressive words. Not that he particularly cared.

"And this," she said dully, as they ended up downstairs once again, "is the linen closet. I'm sure you need to see it, for you know, security purposes."

"Not too happy about this, are you?"

"Gee, how can you tell?" She looked down, and then said more softly, "Is it possible to be completely pissed off and beyond terrified at the same time? Because that's me right now."

"Cause of this afternoon?"

She nodded and briefly related what had happened. "I thought I was gone, you know?" she finished. "That that was it, even as I was kicking and screaming. But suddenly he just flung me away and they drove off. Maybe he didn't want to be seen; there were people coming."

Buffy shrugged, realizing she'd just spoken more than she had since he'd arrived. But she supposed she could be cordial and make the best of the situation. She couldn't go around in a huff for a week.

"You're lucky they did sloppy work," he said.

"Because of the whole broad daylight thing?"

"Partly. But you can nab someone in daylight, if you know what you're about. Never take anything for granted. They took for granted that you'd be easy, that you wouldn't fight back. In the one second you did, it threw 'em and they lost their game."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "You seem to know a lot about this."

Spike gave her a good-natured smirk and leaned in conspiratorially. "If it'd been me, I'd have gotten you."

"Well, thanks for that thought. But they're not going to make that mistake again, huh?"

"'Fraid not. No worries, though."

"Why? Because you're here?"

"So how are we getting on?" Joyce's voice interrupted them, as she hovered in the hallway. "Did Buffy show you your room?"

"That she did."

"Are you hungry? We already ate, but I could fix you something. Or something to drink?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"Well, feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen as long as you're here."

Her mother went back down the hall, and Spike turned his attention back to Buffy.

"What now, pet?"

Buffy blinked. The 'pet' sort of threw her. "I guess I'll show you a map of campus, point out where my classes are and stuff. I suppose I'm going to go tomorrow. Not that staying home forever doesn't sound appealing." She looked at him for a moment.

"What?"

"Okay, so maybe you're not a three hundred pound hulking guy—sorry, bodyguard stereotype—but can you maybe look a little less conspicuous?"

"Meanin'?"

"Meaning, it's gonna be obvious that you're with me if anyone's paying attention, but does it have to be _obvious_ obvious why you're there? Can you lose some of the black? At least wear a coat that's not floor length. And it's almost eighty degrees, how can you stand to wear that anyway?"

"No promises on the wardrobe."

"Not very stealthy, Mr. Bodyguard. C'mon, I'll print you out a map."

Buffy sighed to herself. This would still be weird, but maybe it wouldn't be as bad as she'd imagined.


	4. Indications

The guest room more closely resembled a small suite at a hotel than a bedroom. There was a queen size bed, a recliner in one corner, and a couch positioned to one side of the television. A door on one wall led to a bathroom shared between his room and another guest room, and another door opened to a small balcony.

Spike had the balcony door open and the telly volume on low. It was close to dawn and everyone else in the house was long asleep. He was stretched out on the bed, actually reading the papers that the Watcher had given him.

Looking over the information that Wesley had been provided by Hank, he found very little of use. There were the standard form things—Buffy's birth date, her license plate number, phone numbers, addresses and more. There was what her father professed to know of her social life, which was probably not entirely correct, Spike thought, but sounded generally in line with what she seemed. There was a class schedule with transcript, and he checked the classes with the map that Buffy had given him.

Now the pages Wesley had put together on the family were more interesting. These sheets were copies of Wesley's own scrawled notes.

There was nothing particularly interesting about Joyce, who worked at a small college and was in charge of the art department. Hank, however, had a high profile job at a large corporation, and by all accounts had numerous contacts in law enforcement, so why he would have gone to Wesley first was slightly puzzling. There were also some allegations from a few years back about his involvement in a white-collar crime, though charges were never brought. Earlier, it seemed he had possibly committed tax fraud. _He's hiding something,_ Wesley concluded. _At any rate, he knows more than he professes.

* * *

_

That morning, Buffy pulled on a dark green top, put the finishing touches on her makeup, and looked in the mirror. She was ready for today, she was. She was ready to go out and face the music. Whether the music was walking around with Spike in tow, or was the people hiding in the bushes, she wasn't completely sure. But she couldn't let them take over her life, couldn't let what might happen make her afraid of everything. She felt a sudden confidence, which was something she wasn't sure she would have after yesterday.

Buffy grabbed her bag and made her way to Spike's room. She opened the door. "Are you ready, cause—"

She froze.

Spike was wearing nothing but a towel. It was a rather large towel, but a towel nonetheless. He looked up sharply.

"I…uh…" she started.

"See somethin' you like?"

Buffy quickly looked at the floor. Why couldn't she get her feet to move? "Um…I like your bracelet," she blurted, making a swift exit and shutting the door behind her.

She leaned up against the wall. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Knock before you go into someone's room!_ She knew that, she really did.

A moment later, she heard the door click open and saw Spike emerge fully dressed. "I am _so_ sorry," she said. "I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking. I mean, it's not like I…on purpose, you know—"

"It's alright, luv," he interrupted her. "No harm done. Though if you wanted to return the favor…" He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

Buffy opened to mouth to deliver a sharp response, but bit it back. "I probably deserved that." Then she collected herself. "What sort of man wears jewelry?"

"You shoulda seen me back durin' my punk days."

"This _isn't_ a punk day?"

"Hardly, princess."

"Okay, but an ankle bracelet? And, kinda gaudy for a guy."

"Sentimental value. Had it for longer than you've been around."

"Uh-huh," she said, disbelief in her voice. "Well, you look good for your age."

"That I do. Now, not another word outta you about my state o' dress or undress, especially since I'm makin' concessions here."

Buffy abruptly realized that he didn't have on the duster, though he still had the boots. As for the black…he was wearing a button up shirt so deep a red that it might as well have been black, and a pair of faded jeans that clearly used to be black. Normal enough, she supposed.

"Well, let's go," she said.

He followed her down to the garage, making no comment as they got into her white convertible.

"Do you mind if I put the top down?" she asked, backing the car down the driveway.

"It's your car."

Buffy started to push the button as she pulled onto the street. "Or do you think…?"

He turned to regard her. "Think what?"

"Well, that maybe with all the stuff going on that having the top down might not be such a good idea?"

"I don't think it matters."

"Why not?"

"The truth?"

Buffy nodded.

"Because they don't want you dead."

_Yet_. Realization sunk in. Oh God, this was worse.

"If they'd just wanted to kill you, they wouldn't have been watchin' or tried the kidnapping."

Her hands tightened on the wheel.

"They want something," she said in a small voice. "But what? I don't have anything. Ransom?"

"Don't know. Sorry, luv."

Buffy looked back, focusing strictly on the road. A few seconds later, she lowered the top, pushing the button almost defiantly.

After a moment, she glanced over at Spike again. He was leaning back in the seat with his hands folded behind his head and his eyes half closed. He reminded her for all the world of a cat basking in the sun.

"You do that a lot?" she asked.

"Only when I feel like it."

"You're not very dark."

"I don't tan easy. Mind if I smoke?"

"You smoke?"

No answer. Well duh, Buffy, he wouldn't ask if he didn't.

"Yeah, as long as I've got the top down you can," she said. "But don't blow it in my direction. And never in the house. Mom would kill you."

He lit up with an easy movement and took a drag.

Buffy fiddled with her sunglasses. She couldn't help looking at him out of the corner of her eye. He made smoking look so good. And she knew it totally wasn't. She watched as he casually took the cigarette in hand again and exhaled, hanging his arm over the window. She noticed his fingernails had chipped black polish on them.

"You do know that every cigarette takes like seven minutes off your life, right?" she said aloud.

"That so? And where'd we learn this bit o' trivia?"

"I don't know, I think it was on TV. But it must be true. How many a day do you smoke anyway?"

"Enough to have been dead a long time ago."

"Uh-huh. Are you always Mr. Vague Guy?"

"Are you always this nosy?"

"Fine. We can drive in silence. I can do silence. Can you do silence?"

Spike didn't say anything.

"Fine," she huffed again.


	5. Exchanges

The day had been surprisingly easy. Buffy had gone by her teachers' offices and informed them of her situation. Their reactions had quickly gone from concerned to completely accommodating. And that was mostly that. It was easy for Spike to sit relatively unnoticed in the large auditorium classrooms, a borrowed notebook and pen in his hand. Buffy had glanced behind her once, only to see him doodling. If anyone paid attention to him at all in the sea of faces, he seemed like just another slacker who had only now decided to show up.

It was oddly easy to forget that he was there. Spike seemed to be pretending not to know her for the most part. He opted to sit a row or two up and behind her, and after a class was over, he would wait until she started to leave and then trail after her.

Since he didn't seem inclined to speak to her, at lunch she went about her normal business and made her way to the usual outdoor tables where she met Cordelia. She quickly spotted the other girl, who was looking into a small hand mirror and re-applying her makeup.

"Hey," Buffy said, sliding in across from her.

"Whoa, Buffy. Didn't expect to see you here today." Cordelia closed the mirror and pulled her sunglasses back down. "Not after you called me yesterday. What, have you got a death wish?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I've got a bodyguard."

"No way."

"Total way. Sorry I didn't call you back last night, but things were busy."

Cordelia lifted her glasses and looked around suspiciously. "So where is he?"

"Good question." Buffy glanced around and spotted Spike leaning against a tree and smoking a cigarette. "Over there. " She pointed. "The guy with bleached hair."

"Oh my," Cordelia drooled. "Wait, why isn't he like right at your side?"

"He says it's easier to _watch_ me, and therefore watch for anyone trying to get me. It's like a whole 'be aware of the area' thing." Buffy shrugged.

"Well, you can sign me up for the next kidnapping." At Buffy's blank look, she said, "C'mon, that guy is total and complete hotness. Are you blind?"

"No," Buffy admitted. "But come on, he's got to be over thirty."

"When you're that hot, it doesn't matter," Cordelia stated with conviction.

"Besides, he's here to do his job and nothing else."

"Uh-huh."

Cordelia took a sip of her latte, and there was a short silence. Then Buffy leaned in slightly.

"I saw him in a towel."

"Shut up. You lucky bitch! Were you spying?"

"No! At least, I didn't mean to. I just walked in, and he was…there. It was completely embarrassing. Can we please talk about something besides Spike? I'd like to pretend I have a normal life."

"Okay, okay." She paused. "So I guess this means that shopping is out of the question this week?"

"I'm thinking yes. God, can you imagine him following us around the mall? And the downtown stores would be even worse."

"I don't know," Cordelia said wistfully. "I think I'd let him follow me anywhere."

Buffy glared at her.

Cordelia threw her hands up. "Okay. Shutting up."

* * *

After a non-eventful day of class, Buffy drove herself and Spike home. He promptly disappeared upstairs, and she went into the living room to watch TV.

A short while later, Buffy found herself moping around the kitchen trying to decide what to eat when she heard the doorbell ring.

She was halfway down the hall when Spike came thundering down the stairs. He grabbed her arm and whirled her around. "What the bloody hell are you doing?"

"Getting the door! What's your damage?" she demanded.

"Are you off your bird?"

"Oh please, what's the big—" Buffy suddenly paled, cutting herself off. "I completely just said that, didn't I? I might as well just gift-wrap myself. Ugh, what's wrong with me?"

He let go of her arm. "Nothing's wrong, pet, you're just used to thinkin' normally, that's all."

Spike regarded the door for a moment and then proceeded to it himself.

"Oh, so you're still gonna open it just like that?" she asked as he reached for the knob. "Glad to know I'm in such good hands."

"I know who it is."

He opened the door to reveal a thin brown-haired girl holding a paper bag. "Hi, Spike," she said, handing it to him. "Here you go."

"This the good stuff?"

She nodded. "He doesn't like it, but Wesley knows this guy at the hos—house kitchen," she finished awkwardly. "Well, see ya." She gave a little wave and then turned toward her car.

"So?" Buffy asked as he shut the door.

"Dinner."

"We do have food here, you know. What is that, anyway?"

"Takeout."

"Well, obviously."

"Wings. Fries."

"We would have ordered out."

"It's a…benefit. Free food delivery."

He started up the stairs.

"You don't have to stay up there all the time, you know," Buffy said. "We've got plenty of room, and you've got run of the house. You could eat those in the kitchen like a normal person."

"Could."

"Hey, if you knew who it was, why didn't you let me answer it?"

"Didn't know who it was till I got down here, now did I?"

"Whatever." Buffy went back to the kitchen, not taking the time to wonder how he could have known after coming downstairs.

* * *

Spike turned the lock to his door and opened the bag. He pulled out the styrofoam container that did indeed contain fast food, and then he dumped out the rest of the bag's contents.

A bottle of beer, two bags of blood, and a thousand dollars in cash that had a note from Wesley attached. _I'm holding the rest for you. Tell Fred if you need it._

Spike pocketed the money and picked up the bags. Slipping into game face, he drained both in quick succession. Then he wadded them in the paper bag and threw it in the trash.

He reached for the container and sat down. Then he paused for a moment. He supposed it couldn't hurt to eat the kitchen.

* * *

Buffy had her head buried in the pantry when she heard the sound of a stool being pulled out.

Spike was sitting at the counter, a styrofoam container opened in front of him. "What?"

"Nothing." Buffy shrugged.

"So, where are the folks?"

"Dad usually works late, so he's hardly ever here. And Mom's schedule is just weird. Sometimes she works a lot, sometimes she doesn't. So it's just me. And you," she added.

He started to eat. After a minute, he said, "So time to level with me, luv. Anyone at all you know that might be out to get you?"

"Nope."

"Angry lovers that dear old dad doesn't know about?"

"Nope." She took a Coke out of the fridge and leaned against the end of the counter. "I mean, I've dated, but there was only one serious guy."

"He the type to snap?"

Buffy laughed. "Riley? Please. Besides, he's not even around anymore. We had a high school thing, you know? It just wasn't going to work in the real world."

"And that Cordelia bird? She your only chum?"

"Yeah. I had other friends in high school, but we drifted. And somehow I never made any in college. I'm just unfriendly Buffy, I guess. But what's it matter, anyway?" she asked, changing the subject. "It's not your job to figure out who's doing this."

"I s'pose not." He went back to his food. "Just be nice to know what I'm lookin' for."

"I mean, the guy you work for is doing that, isn't he?"

"Dunno. I s'pose."

Spike looked at her carefully out of the corner of his eye. He had no idea what she assumed or what she'd been told, but he wasn't going to bring up the fact that there didn't seem to be anyone trying to figure out who was behind her attempted abduction.

"I don't think it's anyone I know," she said slowly, tracing the speckles of the countertop with her finger. "I mean, doesn't that usually build up, like with trying to get my attention first? Creepy dead-end phone calls and weird presents on the doorstep?" She paused. "And random wackos don't have two-man teams and a getaway van."

"You've thought about this."

"How could I not?" Buffy looked up. "Ransom is the thing that makes the most sense."

There was a short silence.

"So can I have a few fries?" she asked.

He pushed the box in her direction. "Help yourself."

Buffy took several French fries and munched in silence. Then she had a swig of her drink. "I'm going to watch TV. You coming with, or are you going back to hiding in your room?"

Which was how Spike found himself in the living room an hour later, sitting with Buffy on opposite ends of the massive sofa. At first they had argued over what to watch, but had eventually settled on Guiding Light, which Buffy had recorded. It wasn't Spike's first choice, but it wasn't half bad, he decided.

* * *

_A/N: For anyone wondering if Spike has the Gem of Amara, yes he does. :) Which more will be said about later._


	6. Dances

"Spike! Doorbell!" Buffy yelled up the stairs. "It's probably that girl with your food!"

"It is!" Buffy heard the faint voice from the other side of the door.

Looking through the peephole and seeing that it was indeed the delivery girl, and that she was alone, Buffy opened the door herself and took the bag. "Here," she said, handing it to Spike as he came down. He took the bag from her and went upstairs again.

When he entered the kitchen moments later with container in hand—popcorn chicken, this time—Buffy asked, "Why do you always go upstairs before you eat? What else is in there, booze?"

"That too," he said. "You know what curiosity killed, don't you, luv?"

"The Buffy?"

He grinned. "That too."

"And how do you get by with so little to eat? All you had at breakfast was some bacon."

Spike shrugged and opened the container, glancing at Buffy as he picked at the chicken. She'd hopped up on the adjacent counter, feet dangling as she swung her legs. After spending three full days with her, he had to admit that she wasn't what he'd expected. Sure, she was blonde and rich, but she was hardly a whiny Valley brat.

Today in the parking lot, as she'd gathered up her things before class, she'd suddenly turned to him and said:

_"Thank you."_

_"For what?"_

_"For being here. I know it's your job and all, but you're the only reason I can do anything. Go to school, leave the house—feel like me. Otherwise I'd just be at home going crazy."_

He'd muttered something about 'don't mention it,' but she'd gotten to him a bit. His mind had intermittently wandered back to her as he'd sat behind her in the lectures that day, tuning out information he'd nearly forgotten.

Buffy noticed him staring at her. She tapped her nail on the counter to get his attention.

"What?" she asked.

"Hard to believe you're nineteen is all," he said. "You look younger."

"Tell me about it." She sighed. "The other day at the bank, someone asked me what grade I was in." At Spike's blank look, she continued. "That automatically means they think you're in high school."

"I thought birds liked to look younger."

"That's later. Right now we like to look older."

"Right. Been outta that loop a while, myself."

"How old are you?"

Spike smirked, putting his hands together as he leaned on his elbows. "How old do I look, pet?"

"Oh no, I'm not playing that game. Another guy asked me that once, and I said 'nineteen,' and he was twenty-five. He got really put off. And then Cordelia got mad because he refused to buy her any drinks."

Spike was still looking at her.

"Thirty-one," she guessed.

"Close enough." He went back to his meal.

"What? You're not even going to tell me? That's not fair."

"I'm thirty-one if you think I am," he said, still smirking.

"But are you _really_ thirty-one?"

Suddenly Buffy's phone rang, and she pulled it out of her pocket. "This isn't over," she said to Spike. "Hello?"

"So are we going out later tonight?" Cordelia asked.

"I'll have to ask Spike."

"You need _permission_?" she asked incredulously.

"Hello? Life kind of in jeopardy here. And maybe a dark club full of strangers isn't the best on the safety, you know?"

"Some professional bodyguard can't keep track of you in a little club?"

"Cordy…"

"But it's Friday! Look, we don't have to go to the Watershed. We can go to Riviera. That place is practically high school. You couldn't get any safer, right?"

"Ugh. Hold on." Buffy held the phone away from her mouth. "Cordelia wants to go clubbing tonight."

Spike observed her for a moment. "You wanna go?"

"Well, yeah. But I'd like to come back, too."

"Shouldn't be a problem."

"Are you sure?"

"Course."

"Really? Great!" She spoke into the phone again. "Yeah, I can. Uh-huh." Pause. "Okay, see you then."

* * *

"Are you sure?" Buffy asked again.

"Havin' second thoughts?"

"School is one thing, but a club is another."

"If you don't wanna go—"

"I want to go. But maybe I'm just not as confident in your bodyguarding skills as you are."

Spike casually slouched against her doorframe. "I'm here. Nothing's happened, has it?"

Buffy frowned. "There's something not quite right with that logic."

"Besides, don't wanna stay home and go crazy."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just saying—I'm nervous, that's all," she continued, closing a makeup compact. "But I also don't want to be Buffy-in-hiding for the rest of my life. Even if it sounded very tempting at the beginning."

Spike watched her as she leaned into the vanity to apply her lipstick. Buffy was pretty, he'd give her that. A little on the thin side, perhaps, but she had a nice enough figure, soft looking hair, a delicate neck— She was definitely the sort he could go for, for one thing or the other.

Which was why he was stopping right there. One thing usually led to the other, and he was supposed to be keeping her alive.

"Why are you standing there, anyway?" she suddenly asked.

"You said nine."

"By which I obviously meant nine—" She paused, catching sight of the clock. "—twenty."

He raised an eyebrow.

"It's not my fault," she added. "My hair is awful tonight. I mean, could it be doing any worse?" She struggled with several strands and a clip for a few seconds. "Hey, I know it's not very manly, but could you hold this piece for a minute?"

"Sorry, but it's against this rule I have. Don't set foot in a girl's room."

Buffy looked at him like she was trying to figure out if he were serious. "If I come out there, will you hold it?"

He shrugged.

"But then I can't see what I'm doing." She looked back in the mirror and paused. "MOM!!"

"Bloody hell."

A moment later, Joyce appeared, apparently unfazed by Buffy's ear shattering scream.

"Help me with my hair?" she asked meekly.

Joyce moved to help Buffy, quickly finishing off her twist and fixing it with a clip.

"Thanks."

"Are you sure this is a good idea, sweetie?"

"Spike says it's not a problem."

Joyce glanced at Spike. "I suppose," she said. "But be careful."

"We will." Buffy grabbed a blue jacket and kissed Joyce on the cheek. "Bye, Mom." Then she looked at him, obviously appraising his long sleeve cotton shirt and jeans. "Black again? Do you _own_ colored clothing?"

* * *

The club looked exactly the same. Which really shouldn't have surprised her, but it seemed like something should have changed.

Buffy glanced around as they entered. "Wow, I haven't been here in ages."

"Pretty much the same," Cordelia greeted her. "No one cool over eighteen comes here, just the losers dating jailbait. But what do I know?" she quickly amended, looking in Spike's direction.

"I'm gettin' a beer," he said, ignoring Cordelia. "Anything for you, pet?"

"Been there, done that, threw up. Beer is bad for Buffy. And hey, alcohol minor here."

"Suit yourself."

Buffy got a root beer, and Cordelia, somewhat annoyed that Spike hadn't offered to buy _her_ a drink, ordered a mineral water. Buffy found them an empty table to sit at.

"This it, then?" Spike asked after moment of silence. "The big weekend plans?"

"Well, there are usually people we know," Cordelia said. "Or at least I know. This isn't our usual place. Hey, wanna dance?"

"Couldn't very well watch Buffy that way."

"Well, go dance with Buffy, then."

"What? No," Buffy said, slightly panicked.

Spike looked at her. "I'm game, luv."

Cordelia hissed in her ear, "Are you crazy? Go on!"

Buffy wasn't quite sure how it happened, but a moment later she was setting her drink on the table and following Spike as he led her out onto the floor. He put one hand on her back, while his other took hers.

"Your hand's cold," she said absently.

"Sorry, pet." He moved his hand to her shoulder.

Buffy leaned against him as they began to sway with the music. It was a mindless sort of song, one that wasn't good for much besides getting to know the shape of your partner's body. She could feel his muscles as he moved, and her mind jumped back to when she'd walked in on him that first morning.

Then Buffy relaxed and let herself become lost in the moment. She just Buffy again, not someone who had people after her, not someone who had to have a bodyguard, and certainly not someone who was dancing with said bodyguard. She was Buffy, and she was dancing with a hot older guy.

.

.

Several dances, drinks, and hours later, things were winding down and Cordelia officially said it was time to bail. "Not cool to be the last ones out of this place," she quipped, shouldering her purse.

Buffy and Spike exited the club shortly afterward and made their way back to her car. "That was fun," Buffy said, hanging on his arm. "Thank you. It was good to do something normal. And I had a good time. It was fun, wasn't it?"

But Spike was only half listening. There was something tingling the back of his neck—the feeling of being watched. He looked into the shadows, but whatever was there had already gone, leaving only the faintest whisper on the air. '_Slayer_.'

She noticed his pause.

"Spike, what is it?" Her hand tightened around his arm.

"Nothing. C'mon."


	7. Clues

Buffy pressed her hand against the wood of the doorframe.

"Spike?"

She knocked on the door.

"Spike?"

She opened the door a crack. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark.

"Spike?" she whispered.

"What?" he finally said.

"Were you asleep?"

"No." He obviously had been.

"It's like four in the afternoon. I know we got in late last night, but wow. Mom was starting to get worried. Um, you're not hung over are you?"

"From two sodding beers?"

"Okay, okay. Anyway, that girl just came by." She held up the brown paper bag, before stepping in and setting it on the dresser.

"Sure, luv. I'll be down in a minute, yeah?"

Spike sighed to himself as she shut the door behind her.

It was naturally hard for him to sleep for more than a few hours at night, and he was with Buffy most of the day. Besides catching naps in the afternoons, he hadn't been sleeping much. Since it was the weekend now, and since Buffy hadn't gone out, he hadn't gotten up.

* * *

When Buffy got out of her bath, she went downstairs and found Spike and Joyce in the kitchen. He'd already eaten his food, and was now chatting good-naturedly with her mother over what looked like hot chocolate.

Correction. Joyce had hot chocolate; Spike had coffee. Which sort of supported the theory that he was hung over. Who actually had problems getting out of bed before four?

But whatever.

Buffy glanced at her mother's cup. "Isn't it a little early for holiday cheer?" she asked. "It isn't even November."

"Buffy, did you know that Spike's been all over Europe? I had no idea. I went to England myself in college."

"Well, he's from there," Buffy said, pouring herself out a handful of marshmallows.

Joyce rolled her eyes at Buffy. "But to have seen so much of Eastern Europe, too—Czechoslovakia, Romania. What was it like then?"

"Couldn't say. Really, it was a long time ago."

"You never tell anything about yourself," Buffy said. "How'd Mom get it out of you?"

"Your mum, she's a talker." Spike took another sip from his mug.

"Speaking of almost being November, Buffy," Joyce said, "are you still going to the Halloween party?"

Buffy glanced uncertainly at Spike. "I don't know."

"But everyone your father or I know will be there." She looked at Spike. "It's invitation only. Surely that would be all right?"

Spike shrugged. "I s'pose. Bunch of rich corporate and college types. I'm not dressin' up, though."

"Just wear your normal clothes," Buffy said. "And the coat."

He turned to her. "Somethin' wrong with the way I dress?"

She popped the rest of the marshmallows in her mouth and smiled.

"Spike?" Hank stood in the doorway. "Could I see you for a moment?" He was dressed in a suit, briefcase in hand. "Joyce, I've got a dinner with a client, but I won't be late."

Buffy looked at her mother, who was frowning but didn't say anything.

Spike followed him to the door, where he paused. "I'm not sure going to the Halloween party is such a good idea," Hank said.

"No worse than goin' out last night, I expect." Spike peered carefully at Hank, who looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn't quite sure what.

"Well, you're the professional," he finally said. Then, "Has anything else happened?"

"No."

Hank looked down and started to open his mouth, before shrugging apologetically and quickly making his way out the door.

Spike went back into the kitchen, only to find Joyce fiddling with her keys and saying a quick farewell to Buffy.

"I don't think she wants to be here when he gets back," Buffy said in answer to his stare. Then her gaze hardened, and she crossed her arms.

"What?"

"I'm not a child."

"Come again, pet?"

"I said, I'm not a child. I don't know what sort of secret talk you and Dad just had, but if there's something going on concerning me, I think I should know about it."

Spike shrugged, leaning against the cabinets. "He asked how things were goin' and if anything else had happened. He wasn't sure about goin' to the Halloween party. Didn't give a reason, though."

"That's all?"

"That's all. What'd you expect?"

"I don't know, I just...have this feeling," she finished lamely.

He studied her for a moment. "What feelin'?"

She sighed. "When things first started happening, it was like he was going overboard trying to blow it off as nothing. And then after the kidnapping attempt, he seemed more bothered about dealing with it than worried. Though now I'm starting to think that he was _really_ worried. He gets me 'the best,'" she said, pointing at Spike, "but he never even said anything about calling the police. Why wouldn't he call the police?"

There was a hitch in her voice, like she was desperately hoping he would make sense of it for her. But her face said that she was already making sense of it.

"He must have someone else doing it," she said, sounding unconvincing.

Spike sighed. "The bloke that hired me," he said slowly, "wasn't paid to find out anything, luv. I bet no one else was, either."

"But why wouldn't Dad want to find out? It doesn't make sense, unless…unless he already knew who it was." Her voice fell as she finished the sentence, her last word barely a whisper as she looked at the floor.

Then her head snapped up. "You think he knows who it is? Why would he know who it is?"

"Don't know. I think he knows somethin' he hasn't said, though."

"That's it. I'm searching his office," Buffy said, tearing off down the hall.

She'd gone from crushed to pissed off in five seconds flat.

Buffy flung open the door and flipped on the lights, walking to stand in front of the massive wooden desk. "You keep watch," she instructed.

"He's gone. He's not gonna pop back just like that. By the way, you're doin' that all wrong."

She stopped rifling through the papers. "What?"

Spike came in. "Don't just throw 'em all around. You gotta put every piece back where it was, even if it's just layin' there random." He demonstrated.

"Again, you seem to know a lot about this. So are you just going to stand there, or help me look?"

He shrugged, and together they began a methodical search of the office, Buffy sorting through the desk, Spike working his way around the bookshelves.

After several minutes of silence, Spike heard a small noise from Buffy. He turned to look and found her kneeling beside a drawer, several dropped sheets spread on the floor. She held the rest in her hand. Wordlessly, she stood and handed them over.

Photos. All outdoors, and she was obviously not aware in any of them.

"These recent?"

Buffy didn't say anything; she was just staring blankly at the pictures.

"Pet?"

"Yeah," she said in a small voice. She looked at the photos as he flipped through them. "Out shopping, around school, just before class—oh God, this was right outside the house. Dad had these all along, for who knows how long. And he just kept acting like _I_ was crazy. I bet he knows who's behind it!"

"Maybe, maybe not. There aren't demands. Could be this is all he knows—got sent the pictures in the mail or something."

"Still! He knew something! He knew and he didn't say!" Her voice cracked. "He knew, and he didn't say." She turned suddenly and went out of the room.

Spike shuffled through the pictures once more before carefully placing them back under the papers in the drawer.

Then he sighed. He supposed he had to go find Buffy.


	8. Inquiries

Buffy was sitting in the living room with her knees in front of her and her feet drawn in close. Spike couldn't tell if she was sulking or fuming. He sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. "I straightened the office up, luv. He'll never know."

"How could he do that? How could he not tell us?" she burst out. "God, anything could have happened! 'I think this guy followed me on campus, Dad,' 'Oh honey, don't be ridiculous,'" she mimicked. "If I'd known, really known, maybe I would have been more careful. But I had no clue. He didn't give me the chance to."

"You wanna confront him about it? Or tell your mum?"

"I don't know." She looked down.

"You wanna talk to the police?"

"I don't know."

Spike tilted his head. "We can have the Wat—Wesley look into it."

Buffy stared into space.

"Buffy, whatever you want, I'll do."

She looked up. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, not that you're normally _not_ nice to me…"

"Way I see it, your father may be payin' for it, but you're the one I'm supposed to protect. So you're the one I'm workin' for. Whatever you want."

"I don't know what to do. I don't know what's right to do, what I should do. I just want it all to go away," she said in a small voice. "Can you do that?"

"Sorry, pet."

"Is Wesley is the guy Dad talked to?"

"Yeah. Runs a detective agency. He knows stuff, knows people."

"How much would it cost for him to detect something? I don't have much of my own, but—"

"I expect," Spike cut in, "that he's already lookin' into it on his own, even if just a bit. He's thorough that way. And he suspected somethin' wasn't right."

"Oh. Well, that's good, right? I mean, did he find anything?"

He shrugged. "Some stuff about stocks, and fudgin' on the taxes."

"Were you going to tell me any of this?"

"Didn't see a reason to."

"Oh." Her face fell.

"The old stuff, it doesn't matter. But it's not my place to go pointin' fingers about what he might know or what he's not tryin' to figure out."

"I guess. But if you hadn't, then no one would."

"You were already thinkin' it."

"Yay me," she said flatly. "I added up what didn't add up. And now I feel even worse." Buffy sighed. "You'll tell him—Wesley, about the pictures?"

"That I will."

"Thank you." She paused. "Do you think it's a bad idea to go to the party?" she asked after a moment. "I really do want to go, but if Dad seemed weird about it, maybe I shouldn't."

"No worries. I won't leave your side."

Buffy turned wide eyes to him, shifting her position. "Are you even a real bodyguard?"

The question took Spike by surprise. "What makes you ask that?"

"I don't know. It just seems like you're not very bodyguardy. Not that I know a lot of bodyguards—or any. I just get the vibe that this isn't really a profession."

"Then you'd be right," he admitted. "But it pays well. And I haven't had any complaints so far."

"Oh, I'm sure you're good at it and all. But what do you actually do?"

"I do whatever I'm paid to do. Earn some quick cash, and then do whatever the hell I like."

"Which is?"

He leaned in slightly. "Right now, I'm keepin' you safe."

Suddenly the door to the garage slammed. Buffy jumped, and a moment later her father appeared in the hallway. "You forget something?" she asked.

"They cancelled. Where's your mother, her car wasn't in the garage?"

"Something came up." She shrugged. But he was already in his office, the door closing behind him.

Buffy turned to Spike. "And you said he wouldn't be back!" she hissed.

"Can I put the telly on?"

She flopped against the cushions. "You gonna call the guy?"

"Not right now, I'm not, pet."

"And this is just between us, and you'll tell me whatever he says, right?"

"Right."

"And you'll tell me anything I should know?"

"Sure."

She tossed him the remote. "Okay."

* * *

Over an hour later, they were still watching TV when the phone rang in her father's office. Spike mentally perked up, though he kept his eyes trained on the screen.

"Hello?" Hank answered. Then his voice shifted. A subdued, "Yes." Pause. "I will. You know I'm good for it." Pause. "I'll take care of it. I just need—"

An even longer pause. Try as he might, Spike couldn't hear what was being said on the other end, not with the volume of Buffy's show still on.

"This is between him and me. Just don't—" Another pause. "I know he damn well is. I told you, I'm working on it." Pause. "Of course I haven't."

Then the phone was slammed down.

Spike shifted, glancing at Buffy. She was still happily engrossed in her program, oblivious.

He let his thoughts drift to the girl for a moment, as well as the previous night.

Spike had been prepared for a somewhat regular night of following Buffy around, and had expected getting a few beers to be the highlight of his evening. Normally, he would have had more than a few, but he did have to stay alert. Still, he hadn't considered dancing until the other girl had suggested it—it wasn't his usual routine.

But it had felt so easy, Buffy's warm body pressed against his as they flowed to the music. He remembered the way she seemed to melt into him as they'd danced, the way she felt beneath his hands.

He had decided that there were far worse ways to spend an evening.

She seemed to think so as well, based on the length of time she'd happily stayed in his arms. She didn't seem opposed to his company at other times, either.

He could admit that he found her attractive. But there was more to it than that. If she were only pretty, it would be easy enough to dismiss her out of hand. But there was something about Buffy that appealed to him…

Spike stopped himself, for several reasons.

One being that their situation was temporary. Seeing her afterward would inevitably bring up certain complications.

And while he found himself somewhat drawn to her, there had never really been anyone for him since his dark princess. No other vampire could hold his interest long-term, and human girls were nothing but one night stands that tended to end messily, for the girl's part. For his part, there was no other way for it to end. Vampire, after all.

As for Buffy, he was being paid handsomely to protect her, which meant that she needed to end up alive when all was said and done.

Spike kept business separate.

Even if that weren't the case, a long-term relationship of any sort with a human was something that he knew rarely went well, and he wasn't looking to use her to test one. After this was finished, he wasn't going to see her again. Things wouldn't end well, otherwise.

With that, his thoughts turned to something that had been lingering on his mind since it had happened.

_Slayer._

The whisper drifting through the air, spoken by some unseen thing. He'd tensed, and she'd squeezed his arm and asked what it was.

Nothing, he'd said.

It was an odd coincidence, perhaps, but not related to Buffy. Those that were after her were clearly human, as was she. There was no way this lively yet frightened girl had anything to do with the Slayer.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to confirm a few things with the Watcher.

* * *

Later that evening when Spike was sprawled out on the couch in his own room, he picked up his phone and dialed Wesley's number.

"It's Saturday night, Spike," he answered. "And this is my cell phone."

"I'm sorry, I didn't care."

"This is presumably about Miss Summers?"

"You heard anything about the Slayer?"

A pause. "What?"

"The Slayer? Anything interesting?" he asked, putting one hand behind his head.

"Not since my dismissal," Wesley said tersely.

"C'mon, Watcher, I doubt you just dropped it."

"I did. What the Slayer does or doesn't do is no longer my concern. _Why_, Spike?"

"Well, that's my business, innit?"

"No. I am familiar with your history."

"I'm not goin' huntin' for her, if that's what you think."

Silence.

"Look, is she still alive, or not?" Spike asked, becoming irritated.

"I don't speak with anyone from the Council, but as far as I know she is."

"That's all I needed, mate. Now Buffy, on the other hand, found some surveillance photos of herself in her old man's office."

"Ah. Well, that does support the theory that he knows more than he's divulged."

"Buffy offered to hire you herself to find out what dear old dad's hiding."

"Were there any threats?"

"No writing, just the pictures."

"I'm afraid there's not much to go on for any sort of investigation," he said. "I haven't uncovered anything else besides what I already gave you, though I haven't devoted much additional time to it."

"Well, I just overheard pops on the phone. He owes someone money. And he seemed to be takin' it very personally."

"I see. Have there been any other attempts on her?"

"No."

"Any surveillance you've noticed?"

"Not unless they're really keepin' their distance."

Wesley paused. "I suppose I could look into it further. Is that all?"

"Yeah."

This time, the Watcher hung up on him.


	9. Parties

"So you're definitely coming?"

"I'll be there with bells on," Buffy said.

"Spike, too?" Cordelia asked.

Buffy sighed, holding the phone with her shoulder while she dug through her closest. "Yes, Spike too. He can hardly guard me if he's not there."

"But it's been a week. Nothing's happened."

"Doesn't mean it's not gonna." Buffy thought back to the pictures in the desk. She hadn't told anyone about that chilling little discovery. And while it was true that nothing else had happened, she doubted that Spike being with her was going to scare the people off for good.

"What's he going as?"

"God only knows. He said he wasn't going to wear a costume."

"But it's a _costume_ party!" Cordelia emphasized. "He's got to wear something."

"I guess. I mean, I know. We'll see. Are you still Marie Antoinette?"

"Please, like I would turn down the chance to wear a dress that fabulous. What about you?"

"I've got this great olden days dress. It's like something out of Pride and Prejudice and—"

"Colin Firth is _so_ gorgeous. He even makes literature watchable."

Buffy stopped herself from pointing out that they had been forced to watch it in senior English. "Anyway, it's light and floaty and has the waist cut really high. It's beige and blue and has a scooped neckline. There aren't sleeves, and I've got this gorgeous shawl wrap thing. And Mom's letting me wear her good pearls with it."

"Nice."

"Yep. And I found the cutest little lace gloves, and a fan, and one of those dainty purses you hang from your wrist." Now if she could just locate her shoes…

"We'll be the belles of the ball—ooh, Harmony's beeping me, anything else?"

"Not really."

"Talk tomorrow, bye!" she quickly finished.

Buffy hung up the phone and continued to sort through the tubs at the bottom of her closet. She _knew_ she had a brand new pair of hose in here somewhere.

* * *

"Well, how do I look?" Buffy stepped in front of her mother's mirror, having just finished the last bit of getting ready—curling her hair. Most of it was pinned away from her face, causing the curls to fall in a small cascade from the back of her head.

"Wonderful, sweetie," Joyce said, fastening the necklace around Buffy's neck. She artfully arranged a few loose strands of hair. "Now, you and Spike are going to meet us there, right?"

"We'll be right behind you."

"And you've got your invitation?"

"Right here." Buffy waved her purse. "Buffy Summers and guest."

"Well, we'll see you there," she said, glancing out the window. "Looks like your dad has the old car ready to go." She picked up her own purse and left the room, pink poodle skirt swaying around her legs.

Buffy took one last spin before the mirror and walked into the hallway. Spike was loitering by his own door, and he ran his eyes over her as she approached.

"So?" she asked.

"You look good."

"Thank you."

Buffy noticed that Spike had not dressed up, as such. He had, however, seemed to have taken her suggestion. He was wearing black jeans and a blood red button up shirt with a black shirt underneath it. He also had on the floor length leather duster, a thing she hadn't seen since the first night he'd arrived. There were several chains around his neck, and he sported a number of rings. However, the thing that seemed to make the most difference was his hair, which was spiked straight up.

It wasn't _so_ much a costume, but it wasn't how most people dressed. And actually, it still fit the theme of the party, which was Times Past. Spike looked like he stepped out of another decade.

"I think it works," she said.

"Glad to hear it. Ready to go?"

Buffy started walking down the hall, Spike following her.

"I do like Halloween," she said, as she went down the stairs. "It's fun when you're little, of course, but I still love it. Dressing up, getting to pretend you're something you're not. Or not," she added, looking at him. Spike always sort of looked like he stepped out of another decade. "Besides, Halloween's when all the things are out and about, you know." She laughed.

"Nah, today's the day they stay in and rest. Too much bad press."

"Uh-huh, sure."

"It makes sense," he insisted. "Now, if _you_ were a beastie, would you come out when everyone's _expecting_ you to?"

Buffy considered, pausing in the living room. "I guess maybe not."

"Damn right. No element of surprise. Would ruin the fun." Then he smirked. "Course, there are always exceptions."

Talk of what wasn't going bump in the night aside, Buffy was strangely nervous. She wasn't really superstitious about Halloween, and didn't believe in much that was supernatural besides the possibility of ghosts. But she suddenly felt uneasy.

"Um, Spike," she started awkwardly, "that thing you said about not leaving my side, you meant it, right? It won't be like at school? It's just since I saw those pictures, and it's nighttime, and Halloween—"

"I promise, luv. I'll be like your date, yeah?"

He linked his arm with hers as they walked to the garage.

* * *

Entering the throng of costumed people, Buffy was glad that she wouldn't be forced to mingle and meet all of her parents' friends. Halloween parties were always different from the normal events of polite talk and uncomfortable dinners.

She quickly spotted Cordelia, whose billowing dress was so wide that Buffy wondered how she got through doors. A massive white wig was perched on her head and her face was heavily powdered. She was flanked by her friend Harmony, who was in a short dress cut at an odd angle. She had on a tight cap and old-fashioned heels, and Buffy assumed she was trying to be some sort of flapper girl, though she ended up looking like a hooker.

Ever the queen of tactlessness, Harmony immediately sized up Spike as he and Buffy walked over. "Hi, Buffy. Is he with you?"

Cordelia slapped Harmony on the wrist with her fan. "Don't you look amazing," she said to Buffy. "I love your necklace!" Then she looked at Spike. "What's he?"

"Don't gotta be something," Spike said, at the same time Buffy said, "A punk."

A warm-up note was struck by the band, and Cordelia turned. "I'm going to hunt down Justin. He promised me the first dance."

Harmony lingered for a moment, before being driven off by the combination of Buffy's dirty looks and the complete indifference of Spike.

They ended up by the buffet, where Buffy picked her way down the table, sampling the assortment of treats while Spike put away more punch than she would have thought possible. One sniff of it told her it was alcoholic, yet he seemed to be holding it well.

Buffy picked at the chocolate party mix she'd put in a napkin. She was getting full, and she knew that if she ate much more her stomach would contain nothing but junk food. Which was sort of the point of Halloween, but still.

Spike was behind her, finishing another cup of punch.

"How much of that have you had?"

"Not enough in there to get you tipsy," he scoffed, gesturing toward the punch bowl with his empty Dixie-cup-sized glass.

"Well, it'd be enough to get me more than tipsy."

"Lightweight."

Buffy rolled her eyes.

Spike casually reached around her and took some of her party mix.

"Not bad," he said.

She pushed the napkin toward him. "Have at it. I can't eat another bite."

Buffy looked around the room, enjoying the atmosphere. The ballroom had cobwebs hanging from its chandeliers, and there were decorations around the perimeter of the room. There was even a fog machine set up. And it was fun seeing everyone in costumes. She was glad she came.

More to the point, she was glad that she was able to come. She looked at Spike, who was munching on the party mix.

So she hadn't wanted a bodyguard at first—had been convinced that nothing could be weirder. And it might have even started out that way. But they had fallen into an easy routine and had no problems getting along with each other. She found herself liking more than just the time she spent with him.

She thought there was something from his side as well. He talked to her or watched TV with her, when he could have stayed in his room all the time, or even just been in a different room. And he had helped her when she'd told him about her suspicions regarding her father, had said he'd do whatever she wanted. He'd called the detective he knew, when he could have just shrugged and told her to handle it herself and call the police.

And he was her date tonight. That was definitely more than he was strictly required to do.

Although since it had turned out to be more of a ball than a party this year, Buffy hadn't expected to do any dancing to the orchestra-type music. She had enjoyed a party without dancing before, but more importantly, she was serious about sticking next to Spike. And he really didn't seem the type for ballroom dancing.

So she was shocked when he asked her if she wanted to.

"This is the waltz," she said.

"Yeah." He raised an eyebrow.

"You can waltz?"

"It's been a while, but yeah."

"Um, okay."

They started out awkwardly, and once or twice Spike turned in the wrong direction. However, after several sets, he had fallen into a practiced rhythm, and Buffy had to admit that he was really quite good. She'd been to her share of social things with her parents, and could tell when someone was leading her or was just going through the movements.

"Where did you learn how to dance?" she asked.

"London. Not bad, huh?"

"Not bad at all."

True to his word, Spike didn't leave her side all evening. They danced, they ate, and only once were they were forced to mingle when Buffy's mother tracked them down and introduced her college friend. Buffy had done her best to deflect the talk from Spike, who was inclined to stand silently for the most part.

"I'm her date," he said simply, when the woman had directed a question to him.

* * *

Buffy had begged out of the party after midnight, telling her parents and Cordelia goodbye even though things were only just beginning to wind down. She fiddled with her keys as she entered the parking lot, trailing after Spike as she talked about the evening.

She hit the button to unlock the car, and threw her party grab bag and her wrap in the backseat.

Buffy pushed the driver's seat back up. "That was great, though. Did you see Cordelia's face when—"

"Buffy!!"

Spike's expression suddenly turned. She recognized the exclamation as a warning, but it was too late. Spike was on the opposite side of the car, and Buffy felt someone grab her from behind and clamp a hand over her mouth. Something was stuck in her arm, and she swayed, suddenly unable to control her limbs.

They came prepared this time, she realized.

There were two other men ready for Spike.

Or maybe not so ready.

He was more than halfway around the car—already just feet away from her—when they jumped him. Through her haze she saw him punch one in the face, dropping him instantly. He delivered a kick to the other, sending him sailing impossibly high in the air.

He turned in her direction, and Buffy felt herself falling.

* * *

Spike threw off his would be attackers with little difficulty, and then advanced on the man who was trying to get away with Buffy. A blow to the head brought him down, and Spike caught Buffy's limp form as she fell. He could smell the sedative from the where the needle had punctured her skin.

Picking up her keys off the pavement, Spike placed Buffy in the passenger seat of the car and locked the door. Then he went back to the nearest man and dragged him over. The guy moaned as he pushed him up against the car.

Spike bent one of the man's fingers back, snapping it instantly.

"So, mate," he said conversationally, "who do you work for?"


	10. Revelations

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I'm glad you're enjoying the story!_

* * *

Buffy woke up dizzy. She was in her car, but she wasn't driving. She didn't remember getting there, either.

"You're almost home, luv."

"Spike?"

Everything seemed blurry. _Someone grabbing her, Spike fighting…_

"The men…?"

"In a world o' pain."

A few minutes later, they were in her driveway. Spike opened the garage with the remote on the visor and pulled inside. Buffy started fumbling with her seat belt, finding it strangely hard to get a grip on. Before she could undo it, Spike was at her door himself. He unbuckled the belt and lifted her into his arms.

"I can walk."

"No, you can't. You're still groggy, pet."

"Fine," she huffed as he carried her in the house. "Mm, your hands are cold." Buffy managed to put her arm around his neck as they went upstairs. "And your face is cold. And your eyes are really blue. I mean, really, _really_ blue."

"Is that right?" Spike nudged open the door to her room with his shoulder.

"What about not coming in my room?"

"Special circumstances," he said, leaving the room shrouded in darkness. He laid her down on the bed and turned to leave.

Then she spoke.

"Don't go." Her barely audible plea stopped him.

Spike sat down on the edge of the bed. As if to justify his continued presence, he turned and began unlacing her old-fashioned shoes, tossing them on the floor. Then he removed the fan and purse from around her wrist and peeled away her gloves.

He had told her she'd looked good. But she had looked bloody gorgeous. Her hair curled, her fancy dress flowing around her. The style was a little before his time, perhaps, but Buffy had looked small and feminine.

Spike had figured he might as well dance with her as not. Not like he'd had anything better to do.

Her arm suddenly twitched as she tried to lift it. With some effort, she reached up into the air for a moment before her hand dropped.

"Why can't I move?" she asked weakly. "Everything feels so _heavy_."

"Whatever drug they jabbed you with, I expect. It'll wear off."

"I was so scared," she said in a whisper.

"I won't let anything happen."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Just am." He brushed her hair away from her eyes.

"Can you take Mom's necklace off me?"

She would ask him that, wouldn't she? "Sure, luv," he said.

Spike leaned in and carefully turned the necklace around, unhooking it and slowly pulling it off before setting it on the nightstand. His hand lingered on her neck, feeling the pulse beneath the skin, and Spike realized how close to her he still was. He might have moved closer as his gaze drifted from her neck to her face.

Buffy slowly tilted her head, causing her lips to brush against his. Spike instinctively deepened the kiss—she was so soft, so warm against him. Then he froze, pulling away and standing up.

"Get some rest, pet."

The door shut behind him.

* * *

Several hours later, Buffy woke up. She slowly got out of bed and went into her bathroom. She realized she was still wearing her dress. Changing out of the costume, she put on a pair of pajama pants and a baggy shirt.

The clock read 4:13 a.m.

Buffy opened her door and crept down the hall, meaning to go to the kitchen. However, when she saw the light on under Spike's door, she paused. As she stood in the hallway debating on whether or not to knock, the door suddenly opened.

"Buffy."

"Yeah. Um, can we talk?"

Spike stepped back and gestured for her to come in. He shut the door behind her and went back to sprawl on the couch. Buffy perched on the arm. He was still fully dressed in jeans and a black shirt, she noticed. His hair was combed back, but somewhat rumpled from being gelled up earlier.

Spike muted the TV. "So, pet."

"Did you tell Mom and Dad?"

"Didn't know if you'd want to."

"I don't know. I mean, I should, but…"

"When they came in, your mum asked about you. I said you were asleep." He shrugged. "You alright, luv?"

"Yeah, great. You know, what with the grabbing and drugging and all." She met his eyes and quietly said, "By the way, thank you."

"Was nothing."

"No, it wasn't. You were—" she paused, as a hazy memory hit her. _Spike moving unnaturally fast, dispatching the men with practiced ease._

"Luv?"

"Amazing," she finished.

There was a short silence, before he sighed slightly.

"Look, the other day I heard your dad on the phone. He owes someone money."

"Um, not in a good way, I'm guessing."

"And earlier I got a name outta one of the blokes in the parkin' lot."

"What? They just like told you?"

Spike gave her a hard look.

"Oh." Then, "There's a connection."

He nodded. "Someone knew you'd be there tonight."

She didn't know what to think about that—actual evidence that her father probably did know who was after her. That it was maybe even because of him. This was so much worse than him not saying he'd been sent photos of her.

She didn't want to think about it.

They sat in silence for a few moments, before Buffy stood. "Well, I'm gonna grab a bite to eat and then try and get some more sleep. Class tomorrow and all."

* * *

Buffy sat in Psychology, irritated. She was clicking her pen and not paying attention at all to the lecture.

The day had not been good from the start. Whatever had been done to her last night caused her to oversleep and miss her first class. Also, her car was on empty, so she'd had to stop for gas on the way. Then the machine had repeatedly refused her bankcard and she didn't have enough cash, so she'd had to borrow thirty dollars from Spike.

And of course, then there was Spike.

She thought he would have said something last night. Or this morning. Or anytime they had been alone. They had kissed, dammit. And now he was being all avoidy. Buffy glanced behind her, narrowing her eyes. You would think someone his age wouldn't still have these sort of awkward issues.

She was so talking to him when they got home.

* * *

"Well?"

"Well what?" Spike asked her.

Buffy tossed her purse in her own room and turned to Spike, pinning him with her gaze as he tried to slink unnoticed into his.

"We kissed."

"Yeah," he mumbled. "'bout that. Sorry, I shouldn't 've."

"I kissed you."

He arched a brow. "You'd been drugged, luv."

So that's why he hadn't said anything. "I wasn't out of my mind," she said. "I wanted to kiss you. I might want to now."

Buffy walked down the hall, stopping when she was facing him.

"It wouldn't work, pet."

"Because you're older? Because you're working for us? You won't be forever."

"Buffy…"

She looked up at him. "What? Am I totally misreading everything?"

He was silent.

"Then tell me what the problem is."

Spike looked torn between saying something or escaping into his room. As Buffy looked at him, she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye. Hanging crossways on the hall wall was a piece that someone had given her mother. The background was a piece of mirrored glass with gilded flowers and vines running over its surface, and it had an enameled geisha girl with a parasol on one side. The whole thing was more art than mirror, but there was no question that she was the only one reflected in it.

Spike saw the expression on her face change, and he glanced over his shoulder to see what she was looking at.

Buffy was staring at the mirror, her eyes darting back and forth between it and Spike.

"What the hell is going on?!" she demanded. "What, are you a vampire or something?"

Buffy meant it as a rhetorical question. It was the only thing she could think of, having a vague remembrance from movies that vampires didn't have reflections. However, when he didn't deny her ridiculous outburst, when he didn't ask if she was crazy—when she saw the look on his face, her eyes grew wide and she clapped a hand over her mouth. "No."

In a burst of rational denial, she tore across the hall and pulled the mirror off the wall, looking for any sign that it was something other than an ordinary mirror. Dissatisfied, she grabbed Spike's wrist and pulled him bodily down the hall. He didn't offer any resistance.

She led him through her room and into her bathroom, stopping before the sink.

She was the only one in the mirror.

Turning with a mixture of abject horror and disbelief on her face, Buffy stared at him. He looked for all the world like he wanted to say something, but wasn't quite sure what. She saw his hand move slightly.

"Don't touch me!" she hissed. "Get out!"

Buffy gave his shoulders a hard shove and locked the door after him. Then she slumped down against the cabinets, feeling the cold tile of the floor against her skin.


	11. Explanations

Spike knew he didn't have to let her drag him into the bathroom to confirm what she'd already seen. But of course, she was hoping to contradict what she'd seen, some part of her mind saying that she would of course see him in the larger mirror.

He could have stood in the hallway, refusing to be moved by her, but Spike had the feeling that would lead to an even bigger scene. A scene he'd never intended to have with her in the first place.

When they stood in front of the mirror, he didn't know what to say when she turned to look at him, didn't like the way she looked as she took a step away.

She surprised him when she suddenly lunged at him, pushing him out of the room. He heard the lock click into place.

For a moment, Spike simply stood there, staring at the door.

He knew he had to figure out something to say.

* * *

After a few minutes, Buffy heard his voice from the other side of the door.

"Buffy…"

She wrapped her arms around her knees, pretending not to hear him.

"Buffy."

A small rap against the door.

"Go away!" she snapped.

"Look, I know you're upset, luv—"

"Upset? Upset?! I am _way_ beyond upset. I'm—you're a vampire!"

"I believe we covered that bit, pet."

"Vampires are not supposed to be real!" she shouted.

"Sorry to disappoint. Why don't you come out an—"

"No!"

"Sure. Fine," he said, sounding just a bit exasperated with her. "Just so long as we're clear that the door wouldn't keep me out if I wanted in."

"Well…I'm still never coming out!" Buffy cringed as that last bit escaped her mouth. Way to sound like a six-year-old.

"Oh, well. Makes my job easier. Not much chance of someone gettin' you from in there. You might get hungry after a few days, though."

Was he snickering?

Suddenly angry, Buffy stood and flung open the door. "_Vampires_ can't go out in the sun," she accused, pointing a finger.

"I'm special."

"And all the times that girl brought your food by?"

"There was also blood."

"Oh God." Buffy walked out of the bathroom and moved past him. It was all making horrible sense. The cold hands, the not eating, the sleeping. The black. "Ohgodohgod," she moaned, flopping on her bed and burying her face in the sheets. When she looked up, he was standing there, staring down at her with an unreadable expression.

"So you're a vampire?" she asked again.

"Yeah."

"Are you going to kill me?"

He did snicker this time.

"Pet, your daddy's payin' me over a thousand bucks a day to keep you alive. I'm not gonna fuck that up by killin' you myself."

There was a question in the air, but Buffy decided to let it remain there.

She sat up. "So do they know?"

"No."

"That detective guy at the agency know?"

"Yeah."

"And he sent a killer vampire over here to protect me?"

"Still here, aren't you? And let's just say he usually deals with things much worse than kidnapping."

"I want to talk to him."

"Buffy—"

"I want to talk to him. Now."

* * *

Buffy had marched down the stairs and pushed her keys at Spike. Upon seeing his questioning look, she said, "What? I don't know where it is."

Also, it was hard to drive and have a proper hissy fit at the same time. And really, she deserved to have some sort of fit, after having news like that thrown at her. They drove in silence, Buffy crossing her arms and pointedly looking out the passenger side window.

Eventually, they arrived, and Buffy found herself standing in the front of a small, respectable looking office located in a business district.

The brunette girl behind the desk stood up as they came in. "Hi, Spike. Um, is there a problem?"

Spike sauntered over. "Depends on Buffy here. I think she's gonna have the talk with the Watcher."

"Oh. Well, I'll go tell him."

"No need, luv. I'll do it." He opened an office door without knocking and disappeared into the room.

"So," Buffy said, finding herself alone with the girl. She glanced at a business card. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and Fred Burkle."

"I'm Fred. From Winifred," Fred put in, seeing Buffy's confused look.

"Oh. So, Bryce Agency, nice name."

"Well, it was better than Purkle," Fred said, laughing.

There was an awkward silence. Buffy glanced over the items on the desk.

"So," she said again, deciding to fall back on girl talk. "Do you two just work together?"

"Oh, we're dating, too" Fred said happily.

"How did you meet?"

"I was in the library downtown, and this portal suddenly opened up! Wesley was an aisle over, but he ran up and pulled me backward. I almost got sucked into some other dimension. We started seeing each other right after the whole 'demons are real' talk."

"Wow. Um, how romantic. So you know about Spike, too?"

"Yeah."

Just then, the door opened and Spike emerged. There was a man in casual business clothing following him. "Miss Summers, I'm Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. If you'll just come this way?"

Buffy followed Wesley into his office and sat down as he shut the door. He took a seat behind his desk.

"Are you a vampire?"

"No. Miss Summers—"

"Just Buffy."

"Buffy, I know this must be a shock—"

"Gee, ya think?"

"—but perhaps I can explain a few things. However, you must be aware that Spike can undoubtedly hear every word we're saying. His being in the next room is only the illusion of privacy." He paused. "Suffice it to say that many of the things which are not supposed to be real do indeed exist. I myself was formerly a member of a group that studied and eliminated demons and vampires. This agency, while it may look nondescript, is involved in many cases that have some element of the paranormal."

"Like you hire vampires?"

Wesley brought his hands together. "Generally, I prefer to kill vampires. Vampires, as you probably know, live off blood. One becomes a vampire by drinking the blood of a vampire, and once turned, will be nearly immortal and have heightened senses and strength. Please don't get the wrong impression. Vampires are not romantic figures, as stories and popular culture make them out to be. They're killers."

"Is this the part where you tell me Spike is a good vampire?"

"Not exactly." He paused again. "However, I can tell you that you're perfectly safe with Spike. He's taken a job for you. If he says he'll do something, he'll do it; if he says he won't, he won't. He works for whomever will pay him the most, and he'll do almost anything for the right price. Good, bad, human, demon, it doesn't matter. He doesn't get involved, he doesn't ask questions, and he doesn't care what side he's playing as long as he gets paid."

Buffy's mind flashed back to something Spike had said on the first night they'd met. _If it'd been me, I'd have gotten you._

Wesley continued. "Spike and I had a run in in an alley, where he quite accidentally saved my life. Later I learned of him professionally, and we began a tense working relationship, as is necessary in my line of work, and as I have sometimes done with other demons." He paused. "However, his business practices aside, I have no reason to think that Spike doesn't still kill. And the Council member in me doesn't do well with dealing with vampires at any level.

"However, I have reason to believe that Spike possesses the Gem of Amara, a talisman that allows a vampire to walk by day, and more importantly, renders them nearly invincible. Despite legends of the necklace, for all purposes it has been considered mythical. Spike most likely keeps it hidden, which is certainly wise, and I imagine that the gem itself could have been reset into anything, if done properly in ritual.

"Attacking any vampire with the gem would be suicide, much less doing so with Spike. That, plus his reputation for hire, and the fact that he didn't kill me when he had first had the chance have led to my occasional association with him."

She shifted in her seat. "Why would he want to kill you?"

"Vampires and the Council have been enemies for as long as either have existed. I am no longer a member of the Council, but that wouldn't be a deterrent."

"This is the 'almost any' job, isn't it?" Buffy said after a short silence.

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, usually when you hear about someone doing almost anything, you think of really bad things. Something it would be hard to find someone to do. Protecting some girl would be the 'almost any' job to a vampire."

"His activities tend to fall within the criminal and demon element, yes. It's where his particular talents are most in demand."

"Then why is he doing this?"

"The money." He paused again. "Spike is good at what he does, whatever he chooses that to be. I can tell you that whatever else he may or may not do, Spike keeps his word." He held up a card. "Think it over. However, if you find you're uncomfortable, I will most certainly find you someone else."

Buffy was silent. She took the card from his outstretched hand, and then turned and walked out of the office.

Spike got up from where he was slouched in a chair and followed her out of the building.

"So did you hear all that?" she asked once they were in the car.

"Yeah."

"Take me home."

But she didn't look at him at all.


	12. Answers

Wesley picked up the phone. "Yes?"

A British voice spoke from the other end. "Ah, yes. How are you…getting on?"

"Very well, thank you for the diplomatic inquiry. I hate to seem rude, but what is this regarding?"

A pause. "Have you heard anything pertaining to the Slayer?"

"Why should I have? I'm no longer there. You are."

"Yes, but she's not. She disappeared. Some time ago, actually."

"Killed?" Wesley asked.

"Possibly, but I have no reason to believe that she didn't—"

"Get bored and leave?"

Silence from the other man.

"For all I know, she could be in Tahiti. I'm sure my replacement is more than capable of dealing with whatever she's done now."

There was a pause. "I should rather think not. She, er, got him killed. Shortly afterward, she vanished."

"I see. I'm sorry. Is that all?"

"Yes."

Wesley placed the phone back on the receiver, somewhat annoyed. Why was everyone suddenly asking him about the Slayer?

Not that he was bitter for being fired by the Council, failing as a Watcher, or having his own Slayer torture him for kicks.

All right, so he was bitter. Slightly.

* * *

After they'd gotten home, Buffy had gone up to her room and not come out. Instead of thinking about things, she had played denial girl. She had given herself a manicure, watched TV, reorganized her closet, and even done her homework. The result of which was that the thoughts she had pushed away were still spinning in her head as she stared at the ceiling and tried to go to sleep.

_Doesn't care what side he's playing as long as he gets paid.  
You're perfectly safe with Spike.  
Vampires are not romantic figures, they're killers.  
…keeps his word…saved my life…possesses the gem…perfectly safe…_

Buffy sighed and sat up, leaning against the headboard. She had always been better at thinking out loud than in her head. "Spike, if you can hear me, I want to talk to you," she whispered on impulse.

A moment later, her door opened and he stuck his head in.

"Okay, that's beyond creepy."

He shrugged.

"Come in, I guess." She flicked on the lamp beside her bed.

Spike closed the door and stood roughly in the center of the room.

There was silence. Buffy glanced in the direction of the far wall. "Mom and Dad are fighting again," she said blankly.

"You wanna know what they're sayin'?"

She laughed. "God, no. It's bad enough I can hear them at all. So…" Buffy trailed off, unsure of where to start. "Um, do you have the gem thingy?"

"Yeah."

"I won't tell."

"I know you won't, luv." There was a pause. "I told him he could tell you."

"What else did you tell him?"

"To explain things a bit, tell you what you wanted to know."

"Oh. So did you really save Wesley's life?"

He nodded. "Didn't really mean to. I saw this demon in an alley and decided to have a bit o' fun. Killed it right quick. Then the Watcher limps out from the side, all bleedin' and can't hardly hold his axe. Nearly fainted when he saw me, thought he was done for. I just left him standin' there."

"So you didn't want to kill him?" she ventured.

"Figured he owed me one now. Those sodding Watcher types are walkin' libraries. Good to go to in a pinch. They're uptight as hell, though."

"How did you know he was a…a Watcher?"

"Can tell a Watcher a mile off. Deep down, he's still just itchin' to fix me right and proper."

Buffy fiddled with the edge of her blanket. "How much is Dad paying you?"

"Fifteen hundred a day."

"That how much it costs to follow some human chick around?"

"Apparently."

"But this isn't your usual thing, is it?" she asked after a moment.

"No."

"You usually do illegal stuff?"

Spike snorted. "Yeah, pet. I do illegal stuff. I do whatever I'm paid to do."

"If someone had paid you to kidnap me, you would have done it, wouldn't you?" she demanded. "Without a second thought."

"Yeah, I would've."

"Kill me?"

"Done it before."

Buffy swallowed. She couldn't ask the other question. "I guess being a vampire comes with a skewed moral compass," she said.

"It does," he said flatly. "Look, right now, I'm protectin' you. Doin' a good job, too. And yeah, I did it for the money. Vampire, here. Deal with it or don't. You want someone else, Wesley'll fix you up."

"You don't really care if I live or die."

"I—"

"This is just another job to you."

"It was."

Spike suddenly frowned, mouth opening slightly. From the look on his face, the words had slipped out before he'd realized it.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"It means," he said, not looking at her, "that I got too bloody well involved."

"And that means?"

His jaw clenched. "I don't know. Alright?"

She didn't know what else to say, and for a moment he simply stood, staring down at her. Then he turned, walking out of the room.

"Fine," she said after him. "You can stay. But the vampire thing is still weird."

* * *

The next evening, Spike was napping in his room when Wesley called.

"What?" he answered.

"Well, it seems Mr. Summers got involved in some _very_ shady business deals a while back. He lost quite a bit of money, and he still owes almost a quarter million to a Mr. Smith. By the way, having the name was quite helpful. Perhaps it was fortuitous that they made another attempt. I wonder how you ever managed to get one to talk," he commented dryly.

Spike chuckled. "He won't be playin' the piano for a while. The name Smith was it, though. All lackeys know is orders. Still, what's two hundred thousand to Summers? This house has gotta be several million."

"From what I can tell, all he has left _is_ the house, and part of it's mortgaged. There are no savings, no other equity. A real estate scheme plus an investment in an overseas corporation that went broke led to him borrowing money from Smith. Needless to say, he was unable to repay it."

"So who's this Smith?"

"He's quite the name in certain upper class circles of the human underworld. Quite the perfect corporate businessman on paper, his racket is loan sharking, as well as prostitution rings located primarily in Central America. Several of the high profile tourist disappearances are thought to be traced back to those who report to him, but no one has been able to pin anything on him or his associates. Sometimes his business becomes…mixed."

Spike was silent for a moment, and something in him tightened as he realized the implications of Wesley's statement. "You think he wants to collect Buffy as payment."

"That would be my guess. She's equity, as far as he's concerned. Unfortunately, that's all my source knew about Smith, and I'm not sure what good the information will do. The authorities have been unable to catch him on anything so far." He paused. "However, Mr. Summers knew who was after his daughter, that it was the result of something he himself had done, and that he'd never be able to get her back. Going to the police would lead to certain other questions, as well as the fact that Smith probably threatened him with something worse if he did so."

Spike was silent again. He found himself focusing on a tiny mark on the ceiling.

"Spike?"

"Yeah."

"There's something else."

"Well?" he prompted.

"Mr. Summers' last check bounced," Wesley said carefully.

"How much we get?"

"Payment for nine days. Which means that he owes for one day already. I placed several messages on his phone." A pause. "What do you intend to do?"

"Well, contractin' is sorta your end, innit?"

"Yes, well, I was referring to Miss Summers."

"Payment upfront. If he's busted, he's busted. And I'm gone."

Spike hung up the phone.

He knew the words were a lie the second they were out of his mouth. He glanced at the wall that was in the direction of Buffy's room.

After a moment, he got up and made his way down the hall, pausing at her door. She was sitting at her vanity, doing something with makeup. Then she paused, staring into the mirror and looking somewhat contemplative.

Spike shifted, letting his clothing rustle. Buffy turned around at the noise.

"Hey," she said.

"Absorbed in your reflection?" he asked, walking in. He stood behind her at the vanity.

She looked back in the mirror, glancing at herself and then to where he should be. "Just the fact that I have one, I guess." She turned around. "I'm thinking it's midnight snack time. You wanna order anything? There are a few places still open."

"Nah."

"I guess Buffy's cooking, then. Beware."

When he didn't say anything, she frowned. "What?"

"Nothing."

She was still looking up at him.

"You go on, pet. I'll be down in a minute. Got a call to make."


	13. Tensions

Spike leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Buffy as she stood by the toaster oven and fixed a snack for herself. She was telling him about her friend trying to lie to get her out of some double date.

"But I was already there, and she couldn't pretend like I wasn't, so we had to act all like we knew what was going on," she finished her story.

"Guess you had to be there," Spike said after a moment.

"Dammit!" she suddenly cried.

"What?" he asked, though he already knew. The smell of blood had hit the air the second the knife sliced her finger. She suddenly had his undivided attention.

"I guess it's true what they say about cutting bagels," Buffy said, holding her hand up and walking to the sink. She turned on the tap and started to wait for the water to warm, but noticed the way Spike was looking at her.

It was raw, focused need—a desire like she'd never seen before. A part of Buffy wished someone would look at her like that. Another part wanted to satiate that need, whatever it was for.

She turned, holding her finger. "Do you want to…?"

Spike stared at her.

"No, pet," he said, his eyes widening slightly as he realized what she meant. "You best just wash it off." The scent of her seemed to fill the room, but with some effort, he managed to remain still.

"But, I mean, I don't mind," she said, stepping closer. "It's just a little cut, it's no big deal."

She moved her hand to him, and he reached out automatically. He could almost taste her already. Just a sip—she was offering. "You sure?"

Buffy frowned, suddenly feeling uncertain. "It's not going to hurt, is it? I mean, you're not gonna bite me or anything?"

"No, luv, no biting."

She nodded, and he slowly took her hand.

Buffy watched as he brought her finger to his lips. His tongue lightly flicked over the surface of her cut, before he took her finger into his mouth and gently sucked on it. His eyes closed momentarily, and she thought she'd never seen anyone look more satisfied. After a few seconds that seemed frozen, he released her hand.

Buffy glanced down quickly, but she didn't move away. They were only inches apart, and Spike gradually leaned closer. Then he was kissing her, softly, slowly, but with a burning urgency. She responded, pressing her body against his and deepening the kiss. His hand was running through her hair, down her back—

And suddenly he was gone, halfway across the kitchen and leaning up against the counter. Buffy was left standing dumbly by herself, wondering what had happened.

"How's it going, honey?" her mother's voice came from around the corner. Joyce walked into the kitchen.

"I, um, cut myself," Buffy said, whipping around.

"Doesn't look too bad," she said, inspecting it. "Still, you should go put some antiseptic and a band-aid on it. And oh, did you see that there was a letter for you today?"

"Um, okay."

Buffy quickly went into the bathroom and doctored her finger, trying not to think about Spike's own doctoring. Or the kiss. He'd kissed her. They'd kissed again.

After the initial shock of the vampire thing, she'd had to admit to herself that she still liked him. Even if it was weird and she probably shouldn't, she did.

Buffy went back into the kitchen nonchalantly, grabbing the letter from the mail basket and sitting at the counter as if nothing had happened. But the butterflies in her stomach were quickly replaced by an empty feeling as she saw the envelope's contents.

"Spike?" Her own voice sounded faraway.

Buffy turned and handed the envelope to him.

Inside was a photo of her, a cross drawn on her neck in permanent marker.

"Creepy, definitely," she said. "But I don't get it."

"They know."

"About what?"

"Me."

She raised an eyebrow.

"The cross. It's a vampire thing," he said in a low voice.

"Right. So, how?"

He looked slightly uncomfortable. "He must have looked into it after I beat up those guys."

"He? He who?"

Spike lowered his voice further, leaning in. "I talked to the Watcher again. He says your old man's gotten involved with some real shady characters. And he definitely owes one of 'em a lot of money."

"And _when_ were you going to tell me this?"

"Bloody hell, I just got off the phone."

"Oh." She fell silent. "That means he knew. Dad _knew_ who was after me all along, _and_ it was his fault. Completely." She looked at the floor. "I don't know what to do. I just want it to stop."

"You wanna get outta here for a while?" he suddenly asked.

"What?"

Spike tilted his head, looking down at her. For a second, it looked like he might touch her. His hand lightly grazed over her sleeve, before he took a half step away.

"I know a place out of town. No one to watch us, follow us. We can take my bike."

"It's after eleven."

"So?"

Buffy hesitated for a moment. But maybe some away time was just what she needed. "Let's go. I'll grab a jacket. See if you can find an old helmet for me in the garage—Dad used to bike."

She went up to her room, tied back her hair, and put on a jean jacket. Saying a hurried goodbye to her mother, Buffy grabbed her purse and met Spike in the driveway. He had the bike out and ready to go. He was also wearing the duster again, she noticed. As she approached, he held out a helmet to her.

"Smallest one."

"It'll do." She put it on and adjusted the straps as Spike sat down on the bike.

Buffy got on after him and wrapped her arms around him. She felt Spike brush his fingers over her clasped hands before he reached for the handlebars.

"You ready?"

"Yeah."

The bike roared to life, and they were off.

* * *

When they pulled up to a gas station in the middle of nowhere almost an hour later, Buffy got off the bike and stretched her non-bike riding muscles. "So where are we going?"

Spike started filling up the tank. "Driving."

"Driving? Driving is not a place."

He smirked. "It is if you do it right. Why don't you get yourself some snacks, pet?"

Buffy shrugged and walked into the station. As she looked at the junk food, she realized that besides herself and Spike—well, besides herself—the customers of this place were questionable. Several of them had shot her lecherous looks, and one was currently coming her way.

Then he quickly turned, suddenly fascinated with something on the end of the aisle as Spike sauntered up to her side.

"Ready?"

She grabbed a bag of chips. "Yep."

Buffy noticed the deathly silence that ensued as Spike paid the clerk.

"What was that about?" she asked once they were outside.

"I got into a fight there once."

Spike shrugged. It was true enough.

He'd killed a guy there once. And not in a drained-him-dry way. It had been more of a beat-him-to-death-with-his-bare-hands kind of way.

"What, he look at you funny?"

"Somethin' like that."

Buffy didn't press further.

They'd gotten back on the bike, and soon the boring highway was replaced by a winding road that ran along the ocean. They followed it for miles, sometimes close to the water, other times above it. Once, they stopped to admire the view, and once again so she could eat her chips, but mostly they just drove.

Buffy had to admit that driving was a place. With the roar of the engine and the wind, it was a loud, yet quiet place. With no one but herself and Spike, it was a free and empty place.

* * *

It was after 2 a.m. when they got back to the house, and the last thing Buffy expected to see was her mother sitting in the kitchen with a half drunk bottle of wine.

"We're getting a divorce," she announced.

Spike immediately disappeared upstairs, and Buffy sat down across from Joyce. She saw the photo of herself lying on the counter.

"I threw that away," Buffy said.

"Not very well. It was on top." She took another drink. "Your father and I had it out."

"It's my fault."

"Oh, honey, no. Buffy, this was never your fault. This has been coming. We've been arguing for months. Years, about some things."

"I guess."

"It's just that this was the final—Buffy, he's been lying. He knows about the people trying to get you. And that man from the agency keeps calling, but he won't call him back. And he's squandered our savings. There's almost nothing left. And I don't know what we're going to do about any of it. I still don't think he's told me everything. But none of it is your fault. You have to believe this isn't your fault."

"I guess I do, deep down," she said after a moment, "It's just…kind of a shock."

"Why don't you get some sleep, honey? We'll talk more in the morning."

Buffy eyed the bottle. "Why don't _you_ get some sleep?"

Joyce actually laughed. "It's a deal."


	14. Hits

Later that night, when it was so late that it was early, Spike could be found silently slipping out of the house and wheeling his bike down the street.

He started it and headed in the direction of the city.

Something in him had made up his mind the moment he'd heard the words that day. He knew what he was going to do, never mind why he was going to do it. He'd found out what he'd needed, and the rest had fallen into place with savage simplicity.

He parked streets away and stuck to the shadows, heading for the building of his destination. It was easy enough to get inside, for him at least.

One room was lit.

Spike casually walked into the office, swinging the door open without a sound.

"Nice place you got here."

The man spun around in his chair, obviously shaken. "How did you get in here?"

"You Smith?" He glanced at the desk. "Yeah, you are. Got the gold nameplate and everything. Come in everyday before five, huh? Hard worker, I'll bet."

Smith stood. "I know you. You've been tailing a certain…prospect of mine."

Spike said nothing.

"I also know of your prices." He smiled congenially, stepping forward. "After the Halloween…incident, I did some research. How much would it cost for you to walk the other way and forget you were ever introduced to her?"

"Sorry, mate. First come, first serve. Don't get me wrong, if you'd hired me to nab her, she'd be sittin' before you, but as it is…double dealing's bad for business."

The other man seemed unfazed by the comment. After a moment, he said, "This would mean that she's alone at this very minute."

"Yeah, 'bout that."

Sensing the change, Smith reached into his jacket. But Spike had already closed the distance between them, grabbing his wrist and wrenching it. He felt a gun through the fabric.

"Don't be doin' that, mate. Don't wanna make a lot o' noise, do we?"

Letting go, Spike watched as Smith backed up. "Now, I'm not much one for torture," he said conversationally. "But I was taught by the best, and in your case, I'm willin' to make an exception." He paused. "We're the only ones here, y'know? Not a soul around. And those pesky cameras—pull the right cords and they're useless."

"Who hired you?" he demanded.

"No one. I'm just here for a little blood, so to speak."

"I know what you do. Why should you care what I do? A pretty girl rubs up against you and suddenly you're out for some righteous killing?"

That question grated Spike entirely the wrong way.

"Any other day of the week and you would have eaten her," he continued boldly. "I know what you are."

"Guess I shouldn't have taken a bite outta that guy," Spike said thoughtfully. Then his eyes slid in Smith's direction, narrowing slightly. "I was just so hungry, though."

"I would have figured it out anyway. There aren't many people in our line of work who fit your description. Though it was a surprise."

"Oh, well." He shrugged. "That makes things simple, then. Kinda takes the fun out, though—not having a big reveal and all."

"One thing does interest me. You were with her during the day. Certainly not immediately unusual, unless one knows certain things."

"One reason I don't go out a lot. Didn't really think I'd be recognized on this one, though, being pretty far from my usual stuff." He smiled. "But you won't tell anyone."

Smith sensed that something else had changed, and he began slowly edging to the side.

Spike tilted his head, watching for a moment. "You know what? I'm still sort of hungry."

Smith lunged for something in his desk, but Spike was already on him. He pinned the other man behind the desk even as he was fumbling in a drawer. Smith pulled out a cross, triumphantly shoving it in Spike's face.

Spike grinned, slipping into game face. "Makes me feel all fuzzy inside."

Cold fear washed over Smith's face as the useless cross fell to the ground. "How?"

"Doesn't work like that. You don't get the satisfaction of knowing." He glanced down at the cross. "Not like that really would've helped you anyway. Y'know, I'm _really_ gonna enjoy this."

"Please, I'll give you anything," he stammered. "Name it!"

"Leave the girl alone."

"Done!"

Spike laughed. "You really are too much."

"You don't believe me?"

"No."

* * *

-

-

Buffy woke up and almost unconsciously knew that something was different in the house. Putting on her robe, she crept down the hall and tapped quietly on Spike's door.

"Spike?"

After a moment, she opened the door a crack. The room was empty.

She went downstairs and was surprised when she found the rest of the house dark as well. Though she supposed a vampire didn't need light. It was then that she noticed the back door was open.

Spike was outside, sitting on the large porch swing.

"Hey," she said.

He looked up as she walked out. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from his hand, and the sky was just beginning to change color.

"Can I sit?" Buffy gestured.

He nodded.

Buffy curled up on the seat, shifting her weight after a moment to lean against him. As she drifted back into a light sleep, some dreamy part of her mind thought that he felt strangely warm. But consciousness slid away, and the thought was lost.

.

.

As the sun came up, Spike found his arm slowly moving to rest on the warm ball of girl at his side. There seemed something almost breakable about the moment.

In more ways than one.

He flicked the long-cold cigarette butt into the grass and looked down at Buffy. She was deeply asleep.

Spike stood and scooped her up. She made a small noise, but otherwise didn't stir as he carried her inside. He put her back in her bed and then went into his own room and turned on the television.

He couldn't remember what he watched.

* * *

Later that morning, the clicking of computer keys was providing soft background noise as Wesley looked over a book written in Etruscan. Suddenly the clicking stopped, and a moment later, Fred tapped on the frame of his open office door.

"You know that guy I was researching? The one Buffy's father owed money to?"

"Yes."

"Um, he's dead."

Wesley looked up. "What?"

"Murdered. Sometime early this morning or late last night."

"Any suspects?"

"They're thinking it's mafia related." She waved a printout. "I've got the preliminary findings. But—well, here."

Wesley took the report and quickly scanned it. How scum like Smith was killed wasn't his top priority. What was pertinent was the fact that Miss Summers was likely in much less danger.

Then a phrase on the page jumped out at him.

_…severe trauma to the neck…_

He went back to the top and read the report in full, never noticing the white look on Fred's face.

* * *

Wesley thought it took Spike a bit longer than usual to pick up his phone.

"Yeah?" Spike answered.

"The man Mr. Summers owed money to was killed, it seems," he said neutrally.

"Who by?"

"Considering who he dealt with, it could have been any number of unsavory elements. Judging by the complete lack of evidence, it was a professional."

"So won't someone else be steppin' up to collect on the debt?"

"Doubtful. His office was ransacked, and most everything flammable was burned in a trash can. The computer hard drive was ripped out, and the wall safe was emptied. Someone was very thorough on erasing his records, if there were such of his illegal dealings. At any rate, it sends a very clear message to any acolytes of his."

"Uh-huh." Spike sounded uninterested.

"There were also a number of lacerations inflicted before death, and several broken bones. He apparently died from blood loss, though there was no blood at the scene. The coroner's report said his neck was severely torn, with multiple wounds most likely from a serrated knife. Though for some reason, I doubt it."

He paused, but Spike was silent.

"You really did quite the number," Wesley finally said. "Was it necessary? Any of it?"

"You mad he's dead?"

Silence.

"Or you mad cause I had a good time cuttin' him up? What I do off the clock is none of your business."

"Far be it from me to comment on your recreational activities. However, this was involved with a case."

"Case is closed now."

"It would seem," he said stiffly. There was a short silence. "However, taking matters into—"

"Am I gonna have to threaten you, Watcher? You're the only one who could tie me to this, y'know. Well, you or your sweet girl."

Wesley could hear lightness in the words, but it did nothing to reassure him. "I'm seriously considering burning the case file as we speak."

"Good." Spike paused, then said:

"Buffy's never to know."

"That you brutally murdered someone for her? No, I should say not."


	15. Departures

Wesley hung up the phone from his call with Spike and walked out front.

"Fred, do you have a minute?"

"Sure."

He perched on the edge of her desk. "Spike, er…implied that you knew something about Smith's death."

She scrunched up her face. "Kinda maybe."

"Spike killed him," Wesley said flatly, "despite what the police reports said. I didn't discuss it with you for reasons that have become obvious. However—"

"Spike called last night and wanted to know about addresses and offices and times," she blurted. "He asked me to hack into camera feed from last week and check things—and you said if he ever showed up when you weren't here just to give him whatever he wanted, and even though he was only on the phone and I was home you weren't there so I did, and I figured it didn't really matter since it was about the guy after Buffy, and Spike was protecting Buffy, and I forgot to tell you because you were late and then I was asleep, and then the next morning when he turned up dead, I figured out what must have happened but I didn't want to say anything."

"Because?"

"Because he went and killed someone with the information I gave him."

"Fred, you don't seriously think that Spike wouldn't have found a way to kill Smith without your assistance?"

"I know, I guess… It's just a squicky feeling. Like when you see the person next to you copying your answers but can't stop them, only a whole lot worse?" She looked down and then up again. "This is one of those never-speak-of things, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes."

* * *

It was three days later, on an early Monday morning that Hank cheerfully declared that Spike's services were no longer needed. His announcement was met with silence from Buffy and Joyce.

Spike had wondered how long it would take for Hank to hear about Smith's untimely demise.

"And how would you know that for sure, I wonder," Spike broke the silence, only to have it replaced by one more oppressive. It was the topic that no one wanted to acknowledge. Buffy didn't even know the worst of it, why Smith had wanted her— He was unsure how much Joyce knew, or what Hank had told her. Not that it mattered. "Right. Well, I'll get my things and clear out."

He turned and headed up the stairs. A moment later, Buffy appeared in the doorway.

"So you're just leaving?"

"That's kind of how it works, pet."

"But everything's really okay? It's not just Dad saying something else?"

"You'll be fine. I talked to the Watcher," he lied. "No one will be comin' after you."

"Because?"

"The guy's dead."

"How do you know?"

_Cause I killed him_. "Things like that are news."

"So, that's it? It's over?"

"Apparently."

Buffy realized that he already had on his coat and had his bag in hand. "Will I ever see you again?"

"Probably not."

"But…I mean, I'd like to."

"Wouldn't be a good idea."

"But I thought you—we—" Her face fell. "Is—is there someone else?" Why had she only thought of that just now? Spike probably had a vampire girlfriend or something.

"No, there's not." He stood in front of her.

"Is it me? Did I do something wrong?"

His look softened for a moment. "Course not."

"Then why? I don't understand."

"Wouldn't be a good idea," he repeated. "G'bye, luv."

Before she could say another word, he kissed her on the cheek, shouldered his bag, and walked out the door.

Buffy stood in the room alone, resisting the urge to follow him out.

They'd lived in the same house for two weeks. There was no reason that the thought of never seeing him again should make something in her twist.

She heard the bike start up, and listened as sound died when he drove away.

* * *

Buffy went to class and gave all the appearances of paying attention, though she didn't hear a word that was said. At lunch, she didn't even notice when Cordelia sat down on the bench next to her.

"So where's tall, bleached, and handsome?"

"Huh? Oh, he's gone," Buffy said.

"So it's all cool? You're safe?"

"Apparently." Buffy played with the straps of her bag.

"Well, try not to look so mopey then." Then her eyes widened. "Oh, I get it."

"What? There's nothing to get."

"Uh-huh," she said doubtfully.

"Spike said—"

"Ah-ha! It is about him." Cordelia grinned. "So he's not your bodyguard, so what? Doesn't mean you can't see each other."

"Apparently it does."

"He said that?"

She nodded.

"Oh. Well, he's an idiot then."

Buffy suddenly felt defensive. "It's complicated."

Cordelia raised a brow. "Complicated how?"

After thinking about their conversation that morning, Buffy had a feeling that Spike's refusal to see her again had something to do with the whole vampire thing. Even if he hadn't come right out and said it.

When she didn't say anything, Cordelia continued. "Well, if you don't wanna dish, I'll stand by my conclusion. Idiot. Complicated idiot."

* * *

Walking past Fred with a nod and a "mornin' luv," Spike stepped into Wesley's office.

"I presume you're here for the rest of your money."

Spike nodded, and Wesley turned to his safe. "I finally had a phone call from Mr. Summers," he said as he spun the lock. "He thanked me for our services and assured me I would be getting the other six thousand, though I'm not counting on it."

He pulled an envelope out, but didn't immediately hand it to Spike. "Six thousand would be payment for four days, the one he owed us for, plus three more, evidently." He raised an eyebrow. "Certainly after Smith was gone, you were unneeded. Though of course vacating immediately would lead to questions, for how were you to know he'd been killed?"

Spike shrugged and took the envelope.

"However, you gave me the impression that you were leaving the night I told you the check didn't clear. I had been looking into other alternatives for Miss Summers, at least until Fred showed me the morning's police scans, at which point I realized it was most likely unnecessary."

"Yeah, well."

There was a considerable silence before Wesley spoke again. "Certainly I must be overlooking something, but try as I might, I could think of only one reason for you to so vehemently tear Smith's throat out, not to mention staying on unpaid."

"Good for you." He walked to the door, then paused. "It'd better be a _long_ time before you call me up again."

Spike walked out feeling irritated at something he couldn't pinpoint. He never should have taken this job. Steal something, off somebody, provide backup muscle, intimidate—those were his usual haunts. He'd worked for humans before; if they had the cash, he had the time. He'd even done body guarding before, but it had never messed with him.

But then, he'd never gotten involved, never felt anything more than a detached obligation to anyone before.

Still, leaving shouldn't have been so hard. He had known he was going to do it. And it's not like seeing her would really work. It was better this way.

Getting on his bike, Spike headed downtown. He needed a good kill to clear his head.

Which was why, he reflected, that it was better this way. Better for her.

* * *

When Buffy got home from class, the house seemed eerily quiet. Which it shouldn't have, really, since Spike had stayed in his room at least half the time.

Not his room. The guest room.

He had gone…wherever vampires go.

Buffy turned on the TV to fill the silence, but found herself moping through her favorite programs. Her mother came home early, and dinner was quiet and dull. She never saw her father at all that night; later, she wasn't even sure he'd come home.

She went to bed early, and truthfully, she didn't feel like doing anything else. She couldn't stop thinking about Spike. Which sort of troubled her in a way, as she'd never been one of those girls who obsessed and pined. But she couldn't help wondering about what he'd said. Or what he hadn't said.

And _had_ she done something, or read too much into things? Maybe he'd liked her, but not as much as she thought. They had never discussed the kiss or had another one. The weekend had passed much as other days had, though Spike had seemed a bit disconnected.

After an hour of thoughts that wouldn't stop, she crept down the hall and into the guest room. Her mother had already stripped the sheets off the bed, but she curled up on it anyway, grabbing a blanket from the couch.

This was just for tonight. All of this was stopping first thing tomorrow.

It had to. He was gone.

* * *

-

-

Over the next few days, things returned to normal for Buffy. And really, it was easier to try not to think about Spike, rather than to wonder about him.

So she went about her life.

Which was how she found herself out clubbing with Cordelia on Friday, though her heart clearly wasn't in it. Cordelia had said that Buffy needed to get back into the swing of things. So she'd gotten on the floor with the mob, randomly dancing with whoever happened to be near. She'd barely talked to anyone, but Cordelia hadn't noticed.

When Cordelia said she was leaving with Justin, Buffy cheerfully declared her intentions of staying longer, but as soon as the two were out of sight, she sighed to herself and turned toward the bathrooms. She was going home.

As she made her way down the hall, a side door opened and she was suddenly yanked out into the alley.

It all happened in seconds, though time seemed to crawl.

She was thrown roughly against the wall, and then pulled up by her shirt before she could stand. The door to the club slammed behind her and Buffy opened her mouth to scream. But the sound died in her throat when she saw her captors.

Three men, but their faces were distorted, their teeth long and sharp… _Vampire_, some part of her mind screamed, while the other part said, _But Spike didn't look like that._

The first one tossed her to one of his friends, who caught her arms as she slammed into him. He only held her wrists, but try as she might, Buffy was unable to pull away. The third one came closer, and she had the terrified realization that he was leaning in toward her neck.

_Oh God, I'm really gonna die._

"In one piece, remember?" the leader growled, pulling him back.

"What do you w—" Buffy started, only to be silenced by a blow to the face.

"You've been hard to get, little Slayer. Haven't been out much by yourself after dark, till now."

"Please," she said, flinching and closing her eyes when she saw his hand move for another strike.

But the blow never landed, at least not on her. She realized they were fighting—probably over who got a taste or not. Just perfect. _No, that is perfect._

When the grip loosened on her arms, Buffy immediately pushed away and made for the street. But she hadn't gotten two steps before one of them grabbed her and spun her around. Her hopes sank when she saw that a vampire had her again.

She wouldn't get a second chance at a getaway, even if it was just him. The other three were lying unconscious—wait, _three_?

The vampire with his hand on her arm had platinum hair.

"Spike?"


	16. Collisions

One bleached, leather-clad vampire currently _not_ killing her.

"Spike?" she ventured.

"Yeah. Sorry, luv."

He paused for a moment, and suddenly his normal face was back.

She frowned in the darkness and then squinted. "Okay, that's just freaky."

Spike shrugged. He let go of her arm, though his hand lingered.

"Another vampire thing?"

"Yeah."

Spike hesitated, and then he put his other hand on her shoulder.

Buffy straightened her shirt slightly, feeling overwhelmed with what had just happened. Mostly, she felt a sudden relief.

"You said no one would be after me," she said, relaxing and leaning halfway into him.

His hand skimmed over her back. "Those blokes are different. Nothin' about your daddy's money."

She pulled back and looked up. "Then why did they want me? Why are they calling me slayer?" she choked. "I don't even know what that _is_! Those were vampires! _Vampires_ are after me now! I don't understand."

"We'll figure it out, yeah?" Spike gave her arms a little squeeze. "Let's get you home."

"I don't want to," she said sullenly.

He sighed. "Fine, come with me."

"Okay," Buffy said slowly. She hadn't really expected that.

"Let's just go before these wankers wake up. I don't carry stakes."

She wasn't quite sure what he meant, but she nodded.

They walked in silence, Buffy close beside Spike as he cut through the back streets. Once, her hand brushed his as he paused and she stopped short next to him. He didn't seem to mind when, after that, she kept a loose grip on the sleeve of his coat.

After a few blocks, they arrived at the corner where Spike had his motorcycle parked.

He got on and looked at her expectantly.

Buffy paused, feeling like she should say something. "Thank you, by the way."

Spike glanced away for a second, his shoulders moving in a barely visible shrug. "Was nothing."

"If you hadn't been there, I—"

"Hey now, none o' that," he said, looking at her squarely again. "Good that I was, right?"

She suddenly realized how unlikely it was that he had appeared just in time to save her. "Why were you there?" she asked. When he didn't immediately answer, Buffy continued. "Are you following me?"

"Maybe."

"Why?"

"Are you comin' or not?"

She knew she was. "This isn't over," she said, as she got on the motorcycle behind him. The bike came to life, and Buffy held on to Spike, burying her face in the cool leather as they drove away.

* * *

Buffy was somewhat surprised when they stopped in front of an apartment building. Spike cut the engine of the motorcycle, and then led her down the cement stairs that went below street level. He unlocked a door and held it open for her.

She hadn't really expected Spike to take her home with him, despite his 'come with me.' She wasn't sure where she thought they would end up. Driving, maybe. Somewhere else that was open late.

Also, for some reason, it never occurred to Buffy that Spike actually _lived_ somewhere, especially not after finding out about the vampire thing.

But she wasn't disappointed, either. This meant she would have a chance to really talk to him.

Spike closed the door behind her and flicked the lights on, revealing a one-room efficiency apartment. There was a linoleum-tiled corner with cabinets and a fridge that served as the kitchen, and a TV and couch opposite. A bed was in one corner and a bathroom cut into the other. It was Spartan but tidy, and Buffy thought it fit him. Though why someone who had just been paid nearly twenty thousand dollars was living here was beyond her.

"Like to keep a low profile, pet," he said, guessing her train of thought. "Never know when you'll need to pick up and leave."

"Oh. Right."

Spike shrugged off his coat, tossing it over the back of the couch.

Buffy glanced around uncertainly. "So you were following me, right?" she asked. "Not that I don't appreciate the rescue, but you couldn't have been there that fast unless you were already there."

"Yeah, I was."

"What happened to not seeing each other again? I don't get to see you but you see a ton of me?"

He turned to face her. "Not like I _planned_ to trail you around town."

"Trail? Have you turned stalker guy? Are you _stalking_ me?"

"Stalkin' generally works best when the other person _doesn't_ want to see you."

Buffy shrugged and looked at the ceiling. He had a point. If she'd noticed him, she probably would have invited him over. "So, what then?"

"Made sure nothin' happened, didn't I?"

It also probably wasn't stalking if they saved your life. "You knew about the vampires," she realized.

"I thought I felt somethin'—heard somethin' one night about the Slayer. But didn't _know_. Was also makin' sure no one else stepped up cause of the money."

"What's a slayer?"

Spike sighed. "A Slayer's a girl with powers who fights vampires and demons."

"Well, I'm not one."

"Those vamps in the alley seemed to think so." His gaze lingered on her as he tilted his head. "You don't feel like one, though, and didn't taste like one." He paused. "Maybe you don't know your own strength. Hit me."

"What?"

"One good swing. Give it your all."

"Spike, I'm not hitting you."

"It's not like you're probably gonna hurt me. C'mon now, have a go. Hard as you can."

Clenching her teeth, Buffy drew back her arm and prepared to strike, but Spike stopped her.

"First, keep your eyes open. Second, none of that girly slappin' crap. A punch. Right here to the shoulder."

"Okay…" Buffy made a fist and hit him for all she was worth. And cringed. "That hurt!" She cradled her hand. "What, are you made of stone?"

Spike regarded her, and she heard him chuckle.

"It's not funny!"

"Was a good try," he said unconvincingly.

"If this is supposed to make me feel better, it's not working." She stretched her fingers. "So, definitely a non-Slayery Buffy here."

"You don't work out much, do you, pet?"

She looked back at him. "I do crunches and pilates every week. Why?"

"Cause you punch like a girl."

"I do not!"

"Hate to state the obvious, luv, but you are a girl."

Buffy scowled slightly. "God, I hate this. I'm just pathetic little Buffy, the eternal victim." Then she quickly looked back up. "Hey, you're like Mr. Street Fighter guy, why don't you show me something?"

"Not much you could do is gonna be of use against vamps. Though the cross thing is true."

"Right. Vampires don't like crosses. But I still want to know some moves."

"_Why_?" he asked, in a voice suspiciously close to a whine.

"It's L.A. I could get mugged. Heck, right now I'd welcome a nice, normal mugging."

Spike was looking at her with a blank expression.

"What if you're not around next time? Don't you want me to be able to defend myself?"

"Take one o' those self-defense classes," he suggested.

"No. I want to know some dirty moves, and I want you to show me."

"Fine," he finally said. "C'mere."

Spike moved to stand in the center of the room, and Buffy followed.

His expression turned stern. "But you're _not_ gonna fight a vamp with these, understand? You see a vampire, you run."

She nodded.

Then he smirked slightly. "And you do know that if someone grabs your purse, you just give it?"

"Well, duh. Let's assume they want more than my purse."

"Right."

Spike studied her a moment, and then he moved. Suddenly he was behind her, one arm around her waist and the other around her neck. "So what do you do now?" he said in her ear.

Then he relaxed his grip a little.

"You tell me," she said.

"Bring your heel down on his foot, hard. Elbow him if you can. The elbow's a strong point. If you have leverage on your head, lean forward and crack him in the face, same time as you stomp. It'll hurt, but it'll hurt him more."

Buffy went through the moves in slow motion. She was still pulled tightly against him.

"C'mon, pet, hard as you can."

"No face cracking."

"You're not gonna—"

"Not worried about you," she said, simultaneously stomping and elbowing.

Spike wasn't ready for it. His hold on her faltered a bit. "Good, that. Now—again, when I'm payin' attention."

She complied.

"Once more. Right. Now—" Spike stepped to the side and grabbed one of her arms, "—if you're at close range, elbowin' is good. Gotta put your full weight behind it, though."

He let go and stood beside her. "Say if you had me by this arm or shoulder, then I'd do this," he said, slowly shifting his weight and twisting. "Also, kickin' in the shins. It hurts, and it's a low enough kick that you don't lose your balance."

Buffy twisted around, mimicking him. "That's hardly a dirty fighting move."

He raised an eyebrow. "Poke him in the eye. Hard as you can. Or a solid jab to the neck. Right here, just above the collarbone." Spike touched a spot on her neck with his finger. "Punch if nothing else, but two fingers works best. Gotta be quick about it. Never let him see what you're gonna do."

"Right. Okay."

Then Spike moved directly in front of her and placed his hands gently on her neck. He squeezed slightly. "Now, what would you do?"

Buffy's hands automatically went to his.

"Wrong." He shook his head. "You're not gonna stop him from chokin' you by squeezin' back. Your hands are free—use them. Go for the face. Or try and hit out the elbows. Hit the joint as hard as you can. No, harder. Kick the shins too."

Buffy did it again.

"There, that one might've done it."

"You mean if you were normal?" she asked as he let go.

"Somethin' like that. Also, like that, any time their hands are occupied, you can kick and aim for the important bits."

"Why with the occupied?"

Spike stepped back slightly. "Try it."

"You are joking, right?"

"You won't touch me," he said, a smirk on his lips.

"Confident much?"

"Vampire. Strong, fast, all of that?"

"Arrogant?"

"Just bloody do it."

Buffy aimed a kick at his crotch, only to have her leg caught in midair. "No one but you's gonna be able to do that," she complained, struggling to keep her balance.

"If they know what they're about, they are; they'll be expectin' it. Especially if you're slow and they see it coming. If you're close enough, give them a good knee, which is gonna hurt more unless you really know how to kick. Cause as of now, they've got you where they want you."

"Which is?"

He pulled her leg, and suddenly she was on the ground with him crouching above her. Spike wasn't touching her in any way, but she felt pinned nonetheless. He grinned.

Buffy felt, rather than saw, that he was about to get up, and she touched his arm. His eyes locked on hers, first in question, then suddenly something else.

She wasn't sure which one of them made the first move, but the next instant their lips were locked together and the distance between their bodies had vanished. One of his hands moved around the back of her head to pull her closer, while the other slid up her side. Buffy shifted one of her legs and pressed against him.

Spike suddenly stood, pulling her up with him. She frowned at the lack of contact, before he was on her again, grasping, touching…

"What are we doing?" she breathed after a moment.

He paused and looked at her seriously. "You wanna stop, luv?"

She shook her head.

Buffy brought her mouth back to his, balancing on one foot as she wrapped a leg halfway around his waist. She couldn't get enough of the feeling of his body against hers. It had all happened so fast, but she was desperate for it to keep happening.

They were a tangle of limbs as they kissed and pulled at each other's clothing, moving instinctively toward the bed. Moments later Buffy was on her back, her panties the only thing separating her from Spike.

"Wait," she said, sitting halfway up. "We need—um, some protection…" she trailed off uncomfortably.

Spike brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "You can't get pregnant. Can't get anything."

"Don't all the boys say that?"

"Not won't," he emphasized. "Can't."

"Oh." She frowned. "Is that a vampire thing?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Well, okay."

There was an awkward silence, and Buffy was afraid she had completely ruined the moment.

But then he was kissing her again, one hand slipping up her stomach to cup her breasts as she fell back onto the mattress. The other was working her panties down, and Buffy wiggled them off herself after he pulled them to her knees. A moment later, she felt him position himself between her thighs. He paused, and Buffy realized he was waiting for permission. With a breathless nod, she answered, and he pushed in.

Buffy gasped at the sudden fullness, and she looked into his eyes as she waited for her body to adjust from pressure to pleasure.

Spike was staring at her in a way she couldn't describe. It was so intense, so raw, it seemed like he was bleeding into her. It was the look from the kitchen, she realized, only different.

His lips parted slightly, and a whispered "Buffy" escaped.

After a moment, Spike tilted his head to bring his lips to hers, and he slowly began to move. Buffy wrapped her arm around his shoulder as he found a rhythm, moving her legs slightly and rocking against him. _Oh God._

It was good. Incredibly good. Honestly, she hadn't known what to expect, what with him being a vampire. His body was cool against hers, but his touch was electric, and she soon forgot about the difference.

His hand glided over her breasts as he kissed her, and then his arm slid down her body to grip the back of her thigh. He was moving faster inside her, hitting a bit deeper every time.

She arched against him, and Spike's lips left hers as he started working his way down her jaw line to her neck. But the kisses were gone; he was sucking and nipping. Buffy tensed slightly. _Umm, vampire at your neck._

But Spike only sucked and gnawed at her flesh, doing nothing more than any guy trying to give her an ambitious hickey would. Grasping at the back of his head, Buffy let the sensations carry her as she wrapped her legs around his hips. He groaned as she constricted around him.

She was quickly deciding that while this had been far from slow and romantic, there was something to be said for spontaneous and intense. That, and the fact that Spike definitely knew what he was doing. As his thrusts came harder and faster, she felt the pressure building inside her.

Moments later, her muscles clenched and she cried out, her head rolling back as she came. Spike bit at her exposed neck, grabbing her thigh as he pushed himself into her as far as he could go. His body quickly shuddered in turn as he followed her over.

Spike collapsed on top of her for a moment, his head falling next to hers on the bed. "God, Buffy, you're perfect," she heard him breathe. His body continued to move slightly against hers as he came down.

Then Spike pushed his weight off her, holding their position a minute more before he slipped out of her. He rolled onto his back and gathered her to him in a tight embrace, pulling a blanket over both of them.


	17. Stories

Spike lay awake for some time after Buffy drifted off, her soft shape snuggled against him. Afterglow wasn't something he usually had. It had been a long time since he'd shared his bed with someone he cared about. And that someone had never been human before.

He could hear her heart beating, feel the blood rushing through her. She smelled incredible. But the thought of doing his usual never crossed his mind.

He'd never held a human this long, he realized. It was pleasant enough, but maybe that was just because it was Buffy. She was settled next to him so easily. It was unnatural for him to want her the way he did, and to want her as she was—alive.

He'd wanted her. And now he had her.

But a part of Spike had no idea what he was supposed to do with her now. He'd never thought this far ahead.

Buffy made a small noise, shifting closer to him. Spike let his hand brush over her hair. 'What to do now' could come tomorrow.

* * *

-

-

Spike woke up sometime in the middle of the night, almost regretting waking when he remembered the dream he'd had. Then he realized that there was a warm body spooned against him, her heartbeat thundering in his ears.

Buffy.

He tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

"Is this just some one night stand?" she asked.

Spike hadn't realized she was awake. She was so relaxed; her breathing and heartbeat were low and steady. That, and the fact that he was still reeling that she was actually there.

"What?" he said.

"It feels like one. Is it?"

"No."

"How can you be sure?"

_Because I didn't drain you during sex._ "You're special."

She shifted. "That's what—someone else said, once. And this, it was nice, really nice, but it was really fast. It just happened."

"Luv, you havin' regrets?"

"No! No, it's just, you're not, are you?" She was still facing away from him, but he could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

"I'm still gonna be here in the morning, y'know," he said in her ear. "It's my place."

Buffy actually giggled. "Is it that obvious?"

"You got burned," he said. "Was it that bloke you mentioned before?"

"Riley? No. Riley was sweet, nice. Maybe too nice. It was someone I knew at college. Briefly knew. He got what he wanted, and then I wasn't real to him anymore."

"You're real." Spike pressed his lips to her shoulder. She was so real, so here with him.

"Tell me something real," she said quietly. "About you."

"Like what?"

"Something. Anything. I don't know anything about you, which kind of floats back to my one night stand theory. How about your life story?"

He hesitated. "That's a long story, pet."

"_How_ long, exactly?"

"I was turned about the end of last century," he said carefully. Spike could almost see Buffy doing the math in her head.

Unexpectedly, she laughed, her shoulders shaking against him. "So, not thirty-one. Keep going."

"Met my salvation in an alley. I was struck with her." He paused, propping his head up with one hand. He could see the side of Buffy's face, but he stared at the bed as he continued. "She turned me and everything was new. For weeks we painted the town red, just me and her. Then she took me back to this house, sayin' I had to meet the 'family,' the two other vamps she was with—didn't take long to figure out they called the shots. But I didn't care, long as I had Dru. Also didn't take long to figure out that I didn't. I was her 'shining knight,' but she was always hung up on her daddy, and he made it clear whose she was."

"Her _daddy_?"

"The vamp that made her," Spike clarified.

"Oh."

"Wasn't long, though, before he left. Cursed or something. The other bitch left, too. I don't think she ever really cared for me and Dru, at least not me. Those were good years, then. The two of us went all over the world—lived it up, even durin' the wars.

"Got caught by a mob in Prague in the sixties. Nearly killed her. I took care of her, gave her everything she needed. After a few years, we tracked down her cure, sire's blood—"

"Sire?"

"The vamp that made her," he said, glancing down.

"Oh," Buffy said. "Right."

"Right. So, we track him down and set up this neat little ritual. I figured it would kill him, but just left him completely drained. Didn't matter though, she was strong again." He paused. "She insisted we take the wanker with us—wouldn't leave her daddy all helpless like that. Couldn't say no to her. I should have. Dru spent all her time doting on him, tryin' to get him to eat. He wouldn't, not even from her.

"Later his sire turned up again, sayin' she felt his weakness or call or whatnot. She forced him to drink from her and suddenly he was back to his arrogant, swaggering self. Never got back to full strength, even after years, but Dru was thrilled. Her daddy was back, but weak, and needed her help with all _sorts_ of things—

"I started leavin' for periods, just to get away from the lot. Sometimes I tried to get Dru to come with me. We could be like we were before, I told her. In New York I killed a Slayer for her, but she didn't even notice. So one day I up and left. Came out here."

"How long ago was that?" She threaded her fingers through the hand that rested around her.

"Twenty years or so. I tripped around for a while. Heard about the gem and dug it up in a hellhole town full of idiot vamps. Half of 'em don't even know what's beneath 'em. I got a few jobs here by accident and started to get a reputation. Liked the cash and the fun, and took up shop, so to speak. I decided I had good setup, so I stuck around, mostly."

Spike fell silent for a moment. "Uh, sorry. Sure you didn't wanna hear all about my ex after we—didn't mean to talk about her so much. I s'pose you wanted to hear about what the old days were like, or France or something."

"It's fine." Buffy shrugged. "I wanted your story, and it sounds like she kinda _was_ your story." She paused. "Do you miss her?"

"Used to. But not for years. And certainly not now." He pulled her closer and nibbled at her ear. "Dru was what she was. Did I mention the part about her being insane?"

"Everyone's ex is insane."

"Like clinically."

Buffy twisted around to look at him. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah. Half the time, she didn't have a buggerin' clue what was goin' on. Though sometimes she got visions, real ones, about what was gonna happen. But Dru was completely out of her mind. Played with dolls that talked to her and looked at the stars through the ceiling. I took care of her, would have done anything for her. But I was always number two when it came down to it."

"Well," Buffy said after a moment, "that makes my failed high school romance and one night stand seem considerably less baggage-y. You had a whole Rhett and Scarlett thing going on." She paused. "Well, except that Scarlett really loved Rhett in the end. Er, I should probably stop talking."

"Keep talkin'—about you."

She sighed, dropping her head back to the mattress. "Everything's crashing. Crime lords and vampires are after me."

"Only vampires now."

"That's so much better? And I don't even know why."

"We'll figure it out, pet," Spike said, leaning to see her face.

"And Mom and Dad are getting a divorce."

"Knew that, didn't we?" he asked, slightly thrown by her change of topic.

"Yeah, but they're really being fast about it. Dad left the same morning you did. I think Mom kicked him out or something. He's been sleeping at the office. Or a hotel, I'm not really sure which. I haven't seen her speak to him at all, though they must have worked something out."

She stared blankly at the wall as she continued. "Mom told me they're selling the house. And she gets to keep everything. He's also going to be sending her money each year. Like alimony, but unofficial? I think they made some sort of deal where she's not turning him in. I haven't spoken to Dad, either. I know I should feel bad that I'm more upset about the house being sold than my parents getting a divorce, but I'm not."

"Perfectly understandable, considerin' the circumstances."

"I mean, I don't want anything to do with him, so I'm not surprised that Mom feels the same way. I'm not sure what I'll do next semester. I might live with Mom, wherever she gets a place, or I could try the dorms, I guess."

Buffy fell silent, and then turned to glance at him. "How late is it?"

"Two, maybe three."

"Guess I've got to stay until morning." She immediately frowned. "Ugh. Now I'm sounding one-night-standy."

Spike smirked. "You're forgettin' one thing, pet."

"What's that?"

"You don't have a car here. You're at my mercy until daylight."

"Oh, am I?" Buffy giggled. "What will I do until morning?"

Spike grinned, his hand skimming up her body. "I'm sure we can think of something."


	18. Realities

Buffy had expected an awkward morning after. And it was in its own way, being that it felt strangely right waking up next to him.

She woke up sometime in the middle of the morning to find Spike watching her with a neutral expression on his face. He ran his hand over her hair as her eyes settled on him.

It was all so natural. No uncomfortable smiles, no embarrassed eye contact, no half-finished sentences—just him watching her.

"Morning, luv."

Buffy smiled, stretching beneath the sheet.

"Get all rested?"

"Mm-hm." She yawned. "Do you sleep at night?"

"Some."

She stretched again. "Is it okay if I grab a shower?"

"Help yourself."

Buffy scooted over, getting out of the bed with no attempt to cover her nudity as she walked into the bathroom. She started to shut the door and—

"Oh my GOD!"

Buffy stared open-mouthed at her reflection over the sink. Her neck was blue and yellow, and she could see teeth marks in several places. She came out of the bathroom, pointing.

"You bit me. A lot."

He actually looked a bit guilty. "Didn't mean to, that bad."

"You didn't even really bite me, and it looks like this. Worse, maybe, cause it's all over." She put her other hand on her hip.

"Sorry, pet."

"Did you do _this_ to every girl you slept with?"

Spike tilted his head. "More or less." He paused. "It hurt?"

"Not _really_, just bruise-y. Not at all last night. It just…looks really bad."

"I won't next time."

"Okay, then," she finished.

Buffy turned, going back into the bathroom.

A moment later, Spike heard the shower running.

He crossed his arms behind his head, his thoughts once again returning to Buffy.

He knew things could still go wrong with this.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, the decision had already been made. He'd known since the instant he'd seen her scared to death of the vampires in the alley that he would never end up hurting her. Despite what he'd thought before, it had all suddenly seemed so simple.

Spike had been at the club, of course, because he'd been following her. He hadn't intended to; it had just sort of happened.

So he had been stalking her. Slightly.

He was supposed to walk away and never see her again. It was better that way. That had turned into watching her until he got her out of his system, as well as making sure no other humans made a grab for her. Regardless, he'd reminded himself why it wouldn't be a good idea to carry on any further with her.

And though there had been something still bothering him about the whispered 'Slayer' he'd heard, it wasn't necessarily the first reason he'd been following her. Keeping an eye on her was certainly part of it, but Spike had almost been as surprised as Buffy when the vampires grabbed her.

If he hadn't been there, she would have disappeared. And he never would have known.

And he wouldn't have her now.

But Spike still didn't completely know how to deal with her continued presence in his life. No humans were supposed to _have_ a continued presence in his life.

He was a vampire; humans were food. Anyone was fair game, unless he was being paid for them to be otherwise. Business was business, and business was separate. He even made it a point not to snack on those who hired him after a job was done. It wasn't sporting-like. And it didn't earn him any points with the criminal human count, who tended to pay with cash more than demons did.

Though it didn't come up much, because he didn't tend to see them again. There were the occasional names and faces that kept turning up on the street, but they had never turned up in his bed before. He had rules for business.

Spike stretched back in the bed, considering.

Buffy had stopped being business some time ago. She was something new. But so what if she didn't fit with what he'd been doing before, or what he should do? He wanted her, and that was enough.

He did what he wanted, always made his own rules.

Right, then.

1. Buffy's special.  
2. Don't kill Buffy.  
3. Try not to bite Buffy.  
4. Not even a little bit.

Number two seemed obvious, but only a week ago, he'd thought that he might end up draining her. Vampire/human relationships didn't tend to work out, which was why he had decided it was better not to pursue this further.

He liked her for some reason and hadn't wanted to do anything to her. Spike hadn't had much reason to think that he wouldn't end up hurting Buffy or even killing her, despite his desire not to. He was a vampire; she was human. Things happened. So he'd decided not to let them happen.

But seeing her in the alley had been a moment of clarity. He simply wouldn't let himself hurt her. Certainly never on purpose, but not by accident, either. He'd been afraid of an accident, afraid that having her close for too long would be too much to resist.

But he'd known since she got on his bike that he wouldn't be able to stay away again, known since they came together that he needed her. Known since he had his teeth on her throat that he wouldn't damage her. He wouldn't even take a taste.

Spike thought of her bruised neck. All the frenzied gnawing he'd done with his blunt teeth in an effort not to injure her had possibly done more harm than if he'd just bitten her outright. She was going to be wearing scarves for a while, to say the least.

He actually hadn't liked seeing the bruise on her neck.

Suddenly, he heard the shower cut off.

A moment later, Buffy came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. She leisurely picked up her clothing from where it was strewn on the floor and started changing.

"Leavin' so soon?"

"I should." She shot him an apologetic glance as she put on her shoes. "I didn't call home last night. So, are you still going to be following me around?"

"Maybe. Depends. Can't have anything gettin' you."

"Well, maybe you should do it more openly, if you know what I mean. Like a personal escort." She grinned.

"You goin' anywhere today?"

"Only home." Without another word, she smiled, grabbed her purse, and walked out the door.

Spike watched her go. As the door shut, he stretched back. He could use another hour or two of sleep, and he wasn't planning on getting out of the bed that Buffy had shared anytime soon.

* * *

Buffy had left Spike's with a very confident, afterglowy morning-after feeling. She'd gotten a cab back to the club and picked up her car. If her mother had noticed her absence, she didn't comment on it. And judging by the bottle in the kitchen, Joyce probably hadn't noticed much of anything last night.

As Buffy made her way to her room, she passed her father's exercise room, which was richly equipped, though hardly ever used.

She worked out religiously twice a week. Mainly because she wanted to look cute. And she did—her tummy was toned and her buns, while not of steel, were quite shapely. But she had never really done any exercises to build muscle; it had all been about burning fat. After looking in the mirror for a moment, Buffy realized that her arms were really sort of thin. They could do with some definition, she decided.

Plus, she would no longer hit like a girl.

Her mind made up, Buffy hovered around the exercise room that morning, looking at the different pieces of equipment and wondering which one she should use first.

* * *

In the afternoon, Cordelia unexpectedly picked her up for a round of shopping. Buffy put on some real clothes while Cordelia waited downstairs, and she hastily found something to cover her neck. She'd already had to put concealer over the bruise on her cheek where the vampire had hit her, but she had covered up Spike's marks on her neck mostly by wearing her fluffy bathrobe while around her mother.

As they hit the stores, Buffy, for the first time in her life, paled as she checked the price tags. She had no idea exactly where the financial situation stood, but she gathered it wasn't good. So she watched Cordelia as she racked up purchases into the thousands, and only bought a few tank tops herself.

It was evening by the time they were done, and Buffy told Cordelia that she'd catch a cab home. Once she was in the backseat of the taxi, she gave the driver directions to Spike's.

She'd surprise him if he was there, and she could always go home if he wasn't.

When they were a mile or so away from his apartment, Buffy caught a flash of bleached hair. She whipped around and looked out the rear window.

"Stop! Right here's fine," she told the driver. She dug through her purse and pulled out the bills before jumping out of the cab.

Spike had disappeared, but she walked in his direction and soon spotted him on a side street. He was a fair way down it, but his hair stood out in the gloom. His back was still to her, and she started to call out, before she realized that he was with someone.

A girl someone.

He was kissing her.

Wait.

No, he wasn't.

Buffy felt something inside her drop as she realized exactly what he was doing. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the girl slide—the _body_ slide to the ground.

It had been the question she couldn't ask.

And now she had her answer.

Buffy turned and ran.

She heard footfalls behind her, and she knew he was coming after her. She knew he would catch her. He was faster than she was. But she didn't have to make it easy for him.

"Buffy!"

Another few seconds and he caught her arm, pulling her to face him. They were on the street now.

"I'm not gonna hurt you." His vampire face faded.

"I know," she whispered. "And suddenly it terrifies me."

His fingers flexed slightly, and with a sort of added horror, Buffy realized that the hand gripping her arm was warm. "Get off!" she yelled.

To her surprise, he did.

She left. And he didn't follow.


	19. Shiftings

Buffy had the presence of mind after a few blocks to hail the next cab she saw. After all, who knew about all those _other_ killer vampires out there?

The driver asked her where she wanted to go.

"Just drive." Buffy sank against the seat.

_Spike just _**_killed_**_ someone._

_And what did you think vampires do?_ another part of her mind asked. _What did you think he was doing during all those 'good years' he talked about? And painting the town red? It was probably with actual _**_blood_**_. And what made you think he doesn't do it now?_

He had never said. She had never asked. There had always been something hanging in the air, and she had blissfully pretended it wasn't there. Better to forget the question, than to wonder about the answers.

But suddenly all the little thoughts came rushing back to her, everything she had purposefully pushed aside.

_"Your daddy's payin' me over a thousand bucks a day to keep you alive. I'm not gonna fuck that up by killin' you myself."_

_"If someone had paid you to kidnap me…? Kill me?" / "Done it before."_

_"His business practices aside, I have no reason to think that Spike doesn't still kill."_

Wesley.

Quickly digging through her purse, Buffy located the card that he had given her. She passed it to the driver.

"I need to go here."

She wondered what the chances were of finding him actually there. It was sort of late, and a Saturday. But investigators kept weird hours, didn't they? Surely supernatural investigators did. She could always go home if no one was there.

For some reason—probably nerves—it never occurred to Buffy that she could have called ahead until they were actually stopped in front of the building. But there was a light on inside, so she paid the cab fare, though she asked the driver to wait. Buffy knocked loudly on the glass door, and a moment later it was partially opened by Wesley. He looked surprised, and then his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Buffy."

"Yeah, um, do you have a minute?"

"Of course. Come in."

She waved off the taxi and walked in as Wesley opened the door wider for her. It wasn't until she was inside that she noticed he had a crossbow in his other hand.

"You always answer the door with that?"

"Yes, well," he said. "Can't be too careful."

He locked the door behind her. Buffy suddenly wondered exactly what she was going to say. She needed to say something to someone, and he was the only one who knew—

"What happened to your neck?" he asked without preamble.

Buffy brought her hand up to the two-inch thick, heavily beaded choker she was wearing. "No one else noticed."

"Call it an occupational hazard."

"I, uh, got bit." She unfastened the choker.

Wesley frowned as she tilted her chin. "Well, it wasn't a vampire." He looked at her, looked down, and then casually put the crossbow back on the wall as he turned. "Please, come and sit down." He gestured toward the chairs in the reception area.

Buffy entirely missed the subtext of what had happened. She took a seat opposite him. "It kind of was a vampire."

"Kind of?"

"It was Spike. Things gotkindainvolved," she rushed, looking down.

"What do you mean inv—oh," he realized with embarrassment. "Oh."

"Yeah." She shuffled her feet.

"Well," he said after a moment, "he wasn't trying to kill you."

It was Buffy's turn to look embarrassed.

Wesley's eyes expertly lingered on the concealer-covered bruise on her face. Too expertly—even Cordelia hadn't noticed the spot on her cheekbone. "Did Spike also do that?" he asked neutrally.

"What? Oh, no!" Buffy exclaimed. "It was some vampire in an alley. Spike saved me."

"I see." He paused. "I don't know what to say, other than I would advise you to stop seeing him. Besides the fact that I doubt the relationship will work out. He's a vampire."

"I saw him kill someone," she blurted.

"When?"

"Kinda just now." Buffy twisted her hands around.

"Did he know you were there?"

"No, not till—God, I'm such an idiot. You told me, he practically told me, but I just didn't want to consider it. Like if I didn't _know_ it, or it wasn't happening now, then it wasn't real or something. I wanted to think—I thought what I wanted to think. But duh, Buffy, vampires kill people."

Wesley studied her a moment. "Buffy," he said carefully, "What do you think you are to Spike?"

"I don't…what do you mean?"

"He only associates with humans for business. At any other time, he's a predator."

"So what's with you hooking him up with the human guarding jobs?"

"It was business. Odd as it may sound, Spike honors agreements made. It's against his skewed sense of fair play or what have you to harm those he's worked for. Of course, once a job is complete, he doesn't see the person again. He certainly doesn't become involved."

Buffy frowned. "What are you trying to say?"

"Despite the fact that you were business, as well as…other factors— There's no guarantee with this, Buffy."

"He won't hurt me."

Wesley looked at her, curiously blank.

"He won't. But—it doesn't matter. I'm not going to see him again." She glanced down. "I can't. Not now. Not after—that."

No matter how Spike had been to her, there was no way she could be with him without thinking about what he had done. What he still did. Now if she could only stop replaying it in her head.

A moment passed.

"I shouldn't have barged in here on you like this," she said. "I just needed to— I should call a cab."

"No need. I'll drive you home."

"But—"

"I was about to leave anyway. I insist."

* * *

Spike had stood at the exit of the alley, watching Buffy as she hurried away from him.

Nothing good would come of following her. He had stared after her until she disappeared from sight, and then he slowly started walking in the other direction.

Spike did not plan ahead. He took things as they came, and lived in the moment. If he'd had a plan, which he didn't really, it would have been something along the lines of 'keep Buffy separate,' or 'don't ask, don't tell.'

Buffy herself seemed to be operating under one of those, so he'd gone with the flow, so to speak.

But he'd told her himself that he'd kill for a job. And she'd heard what the Watcher had said. He knew she wasn't so thick as to not even consider what being a vampire meant. However, if she chose not to confront him about it, he certainly wasn't going to bring it up first.

Spike had admittedly glossed over the more mayhem and carnage filled sections of his life, somehow having an idea that she wouldn't like to hear about it. And while he wouldn't have denied it if she'd asked, he did feel something odd about the fact that she'd actually seen him making a kill.

The result of which had been her getting as far away from him as possible as quickly as possible. He didn't know if she would come back, what she would—

His cell phone suddenly rang, and for one ridiculous moment he thought it might be Buffy, before he realized that she didn't have his number.

"What?" he answered.

"I've got it," a voice replied. "Meet you in twenty."

* * *

Spike walked into the bar and headed for the back, stopping before a booth tucked into the shadows.

"That was fast," he commented.

"Forty-eight hours or less. You know my business is to please. Though this is almost a personal best, since you only called this morning."

Spike sat down opposite the man/demon/whatever in the booth. He looked human, even had a human-like heartbeat. But he didn't smell human, and he'd never changed in all the years Spike had gotten information from him. Not that Spike really cared or put too much thought into it.

"So talk," he said.

"The Slayer hunters. Pretty hush-hush. They like to keep it that way."

"And you found out cause…?"

"I've got one of those unassuming faces, people just keep talking when I'm around." He smiled. "Demons, too. No one ever notices me." He leaned in and lowered his voice. "It's a group of vampires, maybe one sorcerer or seer. Small operation. They go in and grab the girl before she's called, then kill her as soon as she is. Drain the blood for a boost, and whatever other parts can be used."

Spike frowned. "Even the Council wankers don't know for sure who the next is gonna be."

He shrugged. "Black magic's always better than white magic. But you're right, it's tricky. They're continually casting, and sometimes never find out—future keeps changing, Slayer lives to fight another day, the potentials shift, etc. Finding out who the next Slayer is depends on how long until the one now dies. It's easier to predict the closer the event becomes; they pay for any tips about the current Slayer. Way I hear it, some dark magician passing through the Hellmouth dropped to them that she wasn't long for this world. The hunters pumped up the casting, and they must have found something, because they're in town."

"They ever wrong?" Spike shifted, but kept his face expressionless.

"If they're actually out, she's the real deal."

"Grab the girl before she's called, huh?" he repeated.

"They try to. Sometimes they can't. They don't if it's someone already being trained. It'd look too suspicious. It's also good one round only."

"Whaddya mean?"

"As _soon_ as the girl's called, they kill her. Hold her for more than a day, say to find the _next_ Slayer and get her too, the Council will start figuring it out. But no one notices a Slayer that only lives for a few hours. The Watchers find the girl who gets called next, and no one's the wiser."

"Never heard of these hunters. They ever take out actual Slayers?"

"No." He shrugged. "They're a select group, and they're sneakers, not fighters. None of them have the guts to go after a Slayer, and anyone who does wouldn't be joining them. Someone who can do Slayer themselves wouldn't back down from fighting her outright, or want to share the blood."

Spike smirked. "Right."

"They get the job done, though. Every few years or so if they're lucky, they all get a taste of Slayer."

A pause.

"Doesn't seem fun without the fight," Spike said blankly.

"It's all about the blood to them. Seems like a lot of trouble to me, but what do I know? Is Slayer blood really that big a deal?"

Spike stood. "It really is."

He threw several hundreds on the table and walked out.

Fuck.


	20. Callings

_A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews!_

* * *

The next morning when Buffy woke up, she thought of Spike. But she resolved not to think about Spike. Especially not Spike doing things she'd rather not think about.

She stumbled into the bathroom, some part of her mind noticing that something wasn't right. The bruise on her cheek was gone, and her neck was already mostly yellow, with patches of normal looking skin showing through. Buffy frowned but shrugged.

It wasn't until after breakfast, when she lay across the exercise machine and pulled down the bars that she realized something was wrong. Frowning at the lack of resistance, she checked the pin and moved it down, repeating the process with no difficulty. On impulse, Buffy set the pin at the very bottom of the weight stack and pulled.

While one half of her brain was telling her that something was wrong with the machine, the other half was telling her something entirely different. She was doing almost one hundred pounds one handed.

Buffy let the weights drop, and sat there staring at them for a moment.

"Uh-oh."

"Honey, is something wrong?"

Buffy whipped around to find her mother pausing in the hallway. "Uh, no. I just had the thingy set wrong." She pulled out the pin and smiled.

Joyce continued on her way, and Buffy's face quickly fell.

* * *

Wesley picked up his phone on the third ring. "Hello?"

A pause. "Wesley?"

"Yes?"

"I am _so_ sorry to call you at home, but there was no answer at the office, and well, not like I thought you'd be in on a Sunday, but I had to try first. But you were listed—actually Fred was listed—in the phonebook, and I thought, and I don't really know who else who would—"

"Buffy, what's wrong?" he asked, placing the rambling voice.

"I think I'm a Slayer."

Wesley paused. "Why?"

"Well, I'm super strong, and that bruise? It's almost completely gone."

"How do you know what a Slayer is?"

"Um, you know that vampire that I said Spike saved me from? He called me Slayer. But the whole strength thing like just happened."

"I see," he finally said. "What did Spike say about Slayers?"

"That it's a girl with powers who fights vampires."

"I see." Another pause. "Shall I meet you at the office in half an hour?"

"God, yes! Thank you!"

Wesley hung up the phone.

He paused, hesitated, and then dialed Spike's number.

It rang more than several times before he answered. "This. Had better. Be good."

"Buffy thinks she's the Slayer," Wesley said flatly.

"Always somethin', innit?" He sounded drunk.

"She said a vampire was after her."

"Not anymore, if she is." He laughed. "Safe as any Slayer is."

"Do you know something about this?"

"Was gonna give you a heads up last night," Spike slurred, "but I got distracted. Doesn't matter now, I s'pose."

"Got intoxicated, you mean."

"Knew some vamps were after the Slayer to be," he continued. "Know they're probably not now. Seems the real thing's too dangerous for 'em."

Wesley frowned to himself. "They go after potentials?"

"No, they go after the next Slayer. You wanna know more? Go spend your own dosh."

The line went dead.

Sighing and leaving a note for Fred, Wesley gathered up a few books and left the apartment.

* * *

When Buffy arrived at the office, there was a circle of sand on the floor, and Wesley was drawing symbols in chalk around it.

"Okaaay," she said. "Why do I feel like a ritual sacrifice is coming up next?"

"Nothing to be alarmed about, I assure you. Just a precaution."

"Precaution?"

"To make sure you are the Slayer." He stood up.

"Did I mention the whole super strength thing?" she asked.

"Yes, well. There are quite a number of things that can cause that. Possession, demonic infection—if you'll just stand right here."

"Taking a leap of faith here. This is the kind of thing you hear about on Dateline—cults, initiations, rituals?"

"Vampires?"

"Okay, so maybe not." Buffy stepped into the circle.

She stood uncertainly as Wesley walked around her, herbs in one hand, a crystal in the other, and a book balanced on his arm. He threw the leaves over her as he circled, said some words, and then threw the rest into the circle.

The result must have been favorable, because after a moment, he said, "You are the Slayer."

Buffy moved out of the circle and sank down into a chair. "So, now what?"

He seemed to be collecting his thoughts. "I've never done this before. Initiate a Slayer, I mean. Frankly, I'm not sure I should, being that I'm no longer a member of the Council."

"You have to tell me what's going on," Buffy said. "If you've got to call these Council people, fine. But I know you, sort of. Someone needs to tell me something."

"I brought some books," he said, gesturing to the table and sitting down. "The Handbook, Slaying Techniques, A History of the Slayers, Selected Watcher Diaries—"

"Whoa. Can't you just give me the Cliffs Notes?" At Wesley's blank look, she amended, "No, you probably read all the books in school, didn't you? I mean give me the short version. What exactly does a Slayer do?"

"A Slayer kills vampires, as well as other demons and anything that happens to come along—but you are a Vampire Slayer. The Chosen One, who is granted the power to fight the forces of darkness. There is only one Slayer at a time, and Slayers are called when the previous Slayer dies. The Slayer is always a girl and is called in her teens—" He paused, studying her. "You're quite old, actually; most Slayers are called when they're much younger. I should look into that."

Buffy frowned. "How much younger?"

"Fifteen or sixteen."

"Fifteen-year-old girls fighting vampires? That's insane."

"Yes, well. I don't make the rules."

"Who does?"

"The Council supervises Slayer activity, though as for how the Slayer came to be, such records have been lost. The Council has no control over how the Slayer line itself functions, but they watch and direct it. Every Slayer is given a Watcher, who guides and trains her and keeps in contact with the Council and its resources."

"You were a Watcher," Buffy said. "That's what Spike called you."

Wesley shifted. "Yes."

"That means you had a Slayer?"

"Not all Watchers have had Slayers, but yes, I did."

Buffy abruptly realized that since she was the Slayer, the other girl must be dead. "What happened to her?"

"I don't know. I was fired from the Council for failing to control her. I haven't seen her since."

"Aren't you sad she's gone?"

"I don't know why I should be," he said evenly. "She nearly killed me."

Buffy's eyes widened.

"If it hadn't been for the timely intervention of a colleague—but that's not particularly relevant at this point. I'm sure you'll be an excellent Slayer."

He said that like he actually expected her to do this. "Is there a Slayer school? Where am I supposed to kill vampires? Do I like go on missions and stuff?"

"Watchers train Slayers. And while the Council sometimes directs Slayers where to go, there is enough to do in Los Angeles for any Slayer."

"I don't think I can do this," Buffy said in a small voice.

"I know it's a lot to take in—"

"No, you don't know! Can't you just Slayerize someone else? I mean, fight evil? Kill vampires? It's too much."

"I'm afraid it's not that simple. You are the Slayer until you die, Buffy. There is no one else. It's your sacred duty. You were chosen to do this."

"And what if I choose not to do it?"

"Then you'll be unprepared when confronted with something that knows what you are, and it will most likely kill you," he said slowly.

Buffy sank back against the chair, forcing herself to remain calm. "Look, I need some time to process all this." She glanced uncertainly at the books on the table. "I guess I could at least skim."

Wesley looked like he was deciding not to push it. "All right. I've got some things I can work on. Why don't you skim, I'll call in some lunch, and we can talk more later."

"Okay." She looked at the books and sighed, randomly picking one up. _Here we go._


	21. Lessons

So. She was a Slayer.

Correction. The Slayer. And it was her sacred duty to slay vampires. Right.

Contrary to what one might think, Buffy had no problem in _believing_ this; however, completely accepting it was another thing entirely. And while certain bizarre things had been happening lately, she had been kind of hoping to leave the bizarre behind, sometime at least.

But it looked like she wasn't getting out of this Chosen thing.

And well, she sort of believed in fate, so surely there was a reason for it to be her. So she'd flipped though the books, trying to get an idea of what she was getting into.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. She could take it slow or something.

Wesley had left her to it, going into his office and messing with paperwork. Around noon, Fred had brought Chinese food by, and after being informed of Buffy's new status, asked her how she was.

"Okay, I guess," she said. "A little overwhelmed."

"I've never met a Slayer before."

"I'm still the same." Buffy shrugged. "Besides, I'm sure it's not that big a deal."

"But it is," Wesley said. "One girl in—"

"In all the world," Buffy finished for him. "Yeah, I read that part."

"And?"

"I guess I can try it."

It seemed like Wesley wanted to say something else, but he didn't speak.

"So," Buffy said, picking through her takeout, "Vampires, the 411. Sunlight, beheading, or a stake through the heart. And they don't like crosses."

"They can also be killed by fire, and are vulnerable to holy water and certain other consecrated items. However, staking is the most common method. That or a crossbow, which is the equivalent. There is nothing mystical about the stake itself, it's merely wood though the heart."

"Wesley did one with a chair leg once," Fred put in.

"Right," Buffy said. "And you become a vampire if you suck their blood—after they suck most of yours, of course. A whole big sucking thing."

"Correct," he said. "Vampires also need an invitation to enter a residence, though not public buildings such as this. You should never invite someone in, especially after dark, and especially now that you're the Slayer. However, the silent, open-palmed 'this way' gesture is not enough for a vampire to enter."

"Right."

"Every night a vampire walks someone dies, Buffy," he said seriously. "It's your duty to prevent that as much as possible."

"I know. Really. I'm just still dealing."

"In addition to strength, you will find that you heal much faster, as well as have increased coordination and skills. And though you'll still need to learn techniques and weapons, you now have quick adaptation and a natural ability. You need to train, but mastery will by no means take years." He paused. "Why don't we try a few things out?"

"Uh, sure. Where?"

Wesley stood and gestured to a door at the side of his office door. He unlocked it and they went in. There were several mats on the floor and weapons of all shapes and sizes lining the far wall. Crossbows, axes, swords—

"You have permits for all these?"

"Not as such."

He pointed to a punching bag suspended from the ceiling. "Try it out."

Buffy punched the bag several times, finishing with one that had it rocking on its chains. "Wow."

"Indeed. Why don't we start with the basics? A stake is the simplest method, and a stake is fairly easy to conceal on your person. While it's sometimes difficult for an ordinary person to use a stake, you should have no trouble doing so with Slayer strength."

Buffy picked up a stake from a table and tossed it around, marveling at how easy it was to twirl. She hadn't exactly been clumsy before, but it was suddenly nothing to flip the stake in her hands or spin it up in the air and catch it.

"Hit them in the heart," she said. "Got it."

Wesley took the stake away from her. "And do you know where the heart is?"

"Well, yeah. Who doesn't?"

"Hit me in the heart."

Buffy jabbed him with two fingers.

"To the left."

She poked him again.

"Lower."

"Okay, fine. You win."

He took her hand and placed it on his chest. "This is directly above the heart." He let her hand drop. "Fred, come here for a moment, please." Wesley turned Fred around and pointed to a spot on her back. "This is where you would stab to hit the heart from behind. You need to be able to find both instantly and without hesitation. You won't get a second chance in the field. Now, just let me set up the camera." He fiddled with some keys and unlocked a file cabinet.

"Camera?"

"It will help us to see your strengths and weaknesses, monitor your fighting style as you progress…" Setting the camera on top of several books, he checked the angle. "There. Now—"

Wesley handed her a thin, yellow styrofoam cylinder.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Is this from a Nerf gun?"

"Yes, well—"

"How do you think I learned to shoot the crossbow?" Fred asked. "Wesley made me practice on him."

"It seemed the least dangerous way to hit a moving target, for Fred and the target. For now, it's your stake. And we're your vampires."

For the next few hours, Buffy 'staked' Fred and Wesley, until he felt confident that she was hitting the heart unerringly. They moved on to some basic moves and techniques, which were then combined with the staking. She was pleasantly surprised that taking gymnastics until she was thirteen was coming in useful. And hey, she might not be able to do the full splits like she could when she was a cheerleader, but with her newfound strength, doing a back flip was turning into doable again. And she was all over the handstands. Not that handstands would probably help with the slaying, but it was encouraging nonetheless.

She spent the entire day there, and after a dinner of Chinese leftovers, she promised to come by for the rest of the week. Wesley said they would begin other weapons tomorrow or the day after.

"Until then, however, take this." He handed her a stake. "You probably won't need it yet, but you should always be prepared."

Buffy tucked the stake into her purse.

"Okay. See you guys."

Walking to her car, she was caught by surprise when two vampires tried to grab her. She gave a half-scream, before something clicked and she reached into her bag. She gripped the stake and drove it home in an instant. The vampire exploded into a cloud of dust, something she'd known would happen, but wasn't completely prepared for.

She didn't miss a beat, however. Still running on instinct, Buffy spun around and rammed the stake through the heart of the other vampire, watching in satisfaction as he also turned to dust. There was another burst from behind her, and she saw Wesley at the door with a crossbow. He'd shot a third one who had been hanging in the shadows and preparing to jump into the fray.

"I did it!" she exclaimed. "Did you see that? I just did it, like I _knew_ or something."

"You did well."

"Those seemed like the same ones from the alley. Or, sort of."

"It seems they go after girls before they're Slayers, as they were attempting to do with you." He looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn't. "I got it from a source," he finally said. "Keep on the alert, but I doubt they'll be back now that you've been called. As well as the fact that we took out three of their number."

Physically and mentally exhausted from everything that had happened that day, Buffy drove home and immersed herself in a hot bath. As she dried off, she noticed that the bruise on her neck had already completely disappeared.

* * *

-

-

_Sunnydale, 16 hours earlier:_

_"Any last words, Faithy?"_

_"Fuck you."_

_"Again?" He laughed. "Well, going out with a bang always was my favorite."_


	22. Hunters

Spike sat at the back of the bar, not doing much of anything except concentrating on the accumulation of glasses before him. He didn't particularly care for demon bars, but this was one of the only places in town where a guy could get an O-neg Bloody Mary to go with his beer.

He'd only dragged himself out of his apartment because he'd run out of booze, and was in no way ready not to be drunk.

Though he'd also needed a change of scenery. Digging through his duffel bag for cigarettes, he'd come across folded sheets of paper—the forms and notes that the Watcher had given him on Buffy's case. Spike had found himself reading them again, the facts of her. He had stared for a bit too long at the picture in the corner.

Then he'd crumpled the papers into a ball and thrown them in the ashtray, lighting them and watching the flames slowly crinkle them into nothing. Pulling himself up, he'd decided that going out was just what he needed.

It hadn't helped.

_Bloody Buffy_, he thought, draining the last of the alcohol from the glass.

First the incident in the alley and now this.

She was the Slayer. She was the fucking _Slayer_.

"The Slayer? Tell me we didn't lose her again."

Spike's ears perked up as he caught a conversation from across the room.

A vampire slid into the booth opposite the one who had spoken. "You could say that."

"Interference again?"

"She _is_ the Slayer."

"You sure?"

"Oh yeah. She dusted Chris and Mack just like that. Her friend got Cole. She's it now."

"Oh well." The first vampire took a sip of his drink. "Next one, then."

Spike made his way over to the table.

"What, is one shiny new Slayer too much for you blokes to handle?"

The vampire frowned at him. "What?"

"I'm just saying. You were all over her before."

His eyes narrowed in recognition. "So were you. You're the reason we weren't able to get her."

"Yeah, well."

"You're welcome to her now."

"Thanks, mate," he said dryly.

The vampire smiled. "I'm not going up against a full-out Slayer. I haven't lived this long by taking stupid risks."

"Well, I have."

"You talk big."

"Were you one of the ones I got the jump on that night? Dropped three of you in less than ten steps."

Without a second glance, he walked away.

The first vampire glared after Spike as he shoved his way to the back of the bar. "Who does he think he—"

"Dude, that was William the Bloody," the other vampire interrupted. "The Slayer killer," he clarified. "I thought it was."

"Then why did he get in our way?"

"Maybe he wants her for himself." He shrugged. "He did drop you quick, though."

"Shut up." He downed the rest of his drink. "We're leaving. Get the hell out of this town, and the hell away from the Slayer. I hope he does kill her. Maybe we can get some better pickings next time."

"Oh, and mate?"

Spike reappeared before the booth. He broke a pool cue over his knee and brought both ends down in one fluid motion, simultaneously dusting the two vampires before either registered what was happening.

"It's Spike these days."

Throwing the shattered pieces of wood to the ground, he stalked out of the bar.

It wasn't until he was outside that he realized he'd killed someone for the Slayer.

_No, for Buffy._

Not that it mattered.

No matter how much he liked the girl—or what he had felt—a relationship with the sodding Slayer was _not_ something he was going to pursue. Whatever they'd had was gone. Even if it hadn't been, she wasn't interested, Slayer bit notwithstanding.

_What did you expect? That she'd be thrilled with your idea of dinner?_

Spike knew better than that. He had, however, expected that it wouldn't have come up the way it did, if at all. Even so, maybe they could've—

No, he knew that Buffy wasn't coming back, not after her reaction to the 'incident.'

And he knew that he shouldn't be interested in any way about the Slayer, unless it was somehow leading up to her messy death.

Of course, those points aside, he could still go see what she was up to. Maybe it was exactly what he needed.

* * *

Monday and Tuesday had seen Buffy back at Wesley's office, training with him and occasionally Fred. On Tuesday night, he said that she was ready to go out.

"Already?" she asked.

"Some Watchers take their Slayers out the first night they find them. Let them learn on the fly, so to speak. Of course, I'm not your Watcher."

"Right. So, what do we do?"

"Generally, look for vampires. The clubs around town, some of the worse streets—but the cemeteries are good enough places for a beginner to start."

"I'm supposed to go _hunting_?"

"We usually call it patrol," he said.

"That's what you call semantics."

"Quite. Now, let's get the weapons, shall we?"

Buffy loaded herself up with stakes, Wesley doing likewise. She watched in fascination as he attached a wicked looking contraption to his arm that served as both a sword and crossbow and that couldn't even be seen when his jacket was on. Even Fred was armed with a crossbow. Buffy was somewhat surprised that the other girl was actually accompanying them. _Well, if _**_she_**_ can patrol, Slayer-me certainly can_, she thought, effectively squashing any nervousness.

They all piled into Wesley's car, and for a moment Buffy almost laughed at the idea of driving to go vampire hunting. It wasn't stealthy or something. However, the cemetery that they ended up at was a good five miles away, and after they got there it didn't seem so ridiculous.

As they got out and walked around the quiet grounds, Wesley was reviewing her on key vampire points.

"It will take a newly turned vampire usually a day to rise, and they're easiest to slay when they're first risen. Though hungry, they're confused and disoriented."

"Right." She nodded.

"But never take their strength for granted. They figure it out quickly. If they successfully rise, most of the time their first act is to kill family, friends, acquaintances—"

"Oh my God!" Buffy suddenly exclaimed.

"What?"

"That night, when I came to the office—you had a crossbow. Did you think I'd been _turned_?!"

Wesley said nothing.

Buffy stopped walking and stood in front of him. "Did you think _Spike_ turned me?" she demanded.

"I'm not sure what I thought. All I knew was that you unexpectedly appeared after dark, looking quite pale and wearing something to obviously cover your neck."

"Pale and _shaken_. Oh my God, Wesley!"

"I don't know what you're so upset about," he said. "It's not as if I shot first and asked questions later. Which is another point—a good Slayer is a cautious Slayer. You must never put yourself in unnecessary danger, but you must always be sure that you're aware of the situation and its possibilities."

Buffy exhaled, shifting her weight. "Okay, okay. But still."

They started walking again.

"You must always be careful," he said. "Furthermore, it's important to remember that the vampire is not the person who was turned, even if they have their memories. The soul is gone and the demon takes over."

"What about Spike?" she asked after a moment.

Wesley narrowed his eyes. "What about Spike?"

"I don't know, I mean…"

"Buffy, I'm not saying that vampires are mindless. I'm saying that they're demons driven by the blood. Vampires can be as intelligent as the next person. Spike has thoughts, a personality, idiosyncrasies, likes and dislikes, but he is a demon through and through. And he is undoubtedly not the man he was when he was alive."

"You sound so clinical."

"I'm a Wat—was, a Watcher. Buffy, this is important. Spike is an irregularity. Not in what he is, but how he behaves. You must _never_ trust another vampire, even if they give you their word. And, God forbid, if someone you know is ever turned, you must remember that they are _not_ that person. No matter what they say, all they're thinking about is how to get you close enough to eat."

"Um, guys?" Fred spoke up for the first time. "Over there?" She pointed to a new vamp digging its way out of its grave.

"Right." Buffy tightened her grip on the stake.

"Wait just a moment," Wesley said. "As he's temporarily occupied, I think this might be a good time to bring up Slayer sense. You should be able to reach out with your mind and _feel_ that there's a vampire nearby."

Buffy concentrated. "I do feel _something_. It's sort of tingly."

"You need to hone that sense, develop it. Soon you'll feel whenever there's a vampire in the vicinity, without actively trying to do so. All right, you can dust him now."

The vampire had managed to dig himself out, and was now stumbling towards them. With a kick and a punch, Buffy drove the stake through his heart.

"How does the 'tingly' feel now?"

Buffy frowned. "It's kinda still fuzzy, kinda there."

"Well, you are in a graveyard," Fred said.

"Her sense shouldn't act up unless there's another vampire."

"Maybe there are more?"

They all looked around. Fred shrugged.

"Maybe I haven't got it figured out yet," Buffy said. "Oh well. What are we waiting for? The night is young. Slayage awaits."


	23. Glimpses

After her third night of slaying with Wesley, Buffy was struck with the impulse to go clubbing. She hadn't had a good time at one in what seemed like a long time. She hit one late, and as she entered, the thought came to her that she could probably take anyone there. Oh sure, she might not have the fighting moves down yet, but brute strength went a long way.

Feeling completely unafraid was not something that Buffy had a lot of experience with. She had never been the type to cower in fear, but a girl out late had to use a certain amount of caution. However, now as she danced to the beat, she realized that not one of these guys could do something to her if she didn't want them to.

Power.

She had it.

Buffy swayed to the music, smiling as someone approached her from behind. She danced between him and another guy, her hands trailing over his arms as he trailed his hands over her. When he went a little too low, she gave his wrist a sharp twist. He winced and she flashed a ditzy, apologetic smile. He smiled, but kept his distance.

Sure, she had to fight vampires, but the whole super strength thing was definitely a perk.

Buffy stayed at the club until it closed.

It was that night that the dream came. It was vivid and stark. And in the way that only makes sense in dreams, she was herself and yet not herself.

She was in a club. There was loud music and a pit of dancing, spinning bodies and grabbing hands. The feeling of complete abandon. And power. Then—outside. A man follows uninvited. She turns, pulling a knife from her boot. A quick jab and it slides into him. He drops down the wall and onto the concrete. Wipe the blade on his jeans. A laugh. "You gotta learn to read signals, man. When the Slayer says no, she _means_ no."

Gasping, Buffy sat bolt upright in bed.

* * *

"It was like I was me, but wasn't me?" she finished. "I wasn't me, but I saw through someone else's eyes, and I was definitely the Slayer."

"It sounds like a Slayer dream," Wesley said. He looked at her from across his desk.

"A Slayer dream?"

"Sometimes Slayers get dreams of future events."

"Whoa—I said this wasn't me. I mean, _so_ not in my future. Sure, I was clubbing last night, but—what?"

Wesley raised a brow. "You went to a club like the one you saw in your dream?"

"No, I went to _a_ club," Buffy said. "It was completely different from the one I saw."

"Well, dreams aren't always precognitive. It could have simply been a message."

"Got that message loud and clear, thanks. Power corrupts. Don't let it go to my head, or I'll end up murdering people in alleyways. Oh, and I kept getting this _vibe_. Like there was something else to it. It was one of those words, you know?"

"One of 'those words,'" he said dryly. "I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific."

"One of those feeling words was coming across. Like hope or joy or faith or something. Yeah, faith. Weird, considering." Buffy shrugged.

"Well," Wesley said after a short silence. "It could have been a glimpse of the past. If you remember anything else, let me know." He stood. "Shall we patrol?"

They avoided the cemeteries and started a circuit around the city back streets. Buffy was still somewhat amazed that no one questioned heavily armed people walking around at night. One time Wesley had had a sword, and tonight she had a crossbow. Tomorrow she was determined that she was trying an axe out.

There was a scream from up ahead, and they both sped up in a wordless agreement. A girl was pinned up against the wall, a vampire at her throat.

"Excuse me." Buffy tapped him on the shoulder. "Can I get some action?"

The vampire turned toward her, and she backed up a few steps, getting him farther from the girl.

"C'mon, I know you want a taste of this."

He lunged at her and she feinted, kicking him as he flew past her. As he came up again, Buffy whipped out a stake, which was quickly becoming her personal favorite.

As he dusted, she looked back at the girl.

Even though she was crying and clinging to Wesley, as soon as Buffy came over she tore herself away and took both of Buffy's hands in hers. "Thank you," she said, looking at her with grateful eyes. "So much."

It wasn't until that moment that Buffy Got. It.

This girl was alive _because of her_.

Being the Slayer wasn't a job; it wasn't something she could choose to do, or try out. It was who she was. She knew with an abrupt clarity that as long as she had the power to save lives, she was the Slayer.

* * *

The next night, they had barely left the office when Wesley leaned in as they walked and whispered in her ear.

"Someone's following us. They got out of a car parked across the street."

"Let's see what they want, then." Buffy slipped around the wall and into a recess in the bricks, and Wesley stepped further into the shadows. After a few moments, a man rounded the corner of the alley and looked inquisitively into the darkness.

Buffy grabbed his arm and pushed him up against the wall. "What's up?" she asked sweetly.

"Ah, Miss Summers—"

"Okay, _how_ do you know my name?"

"Forgive my rudeness, I'm Robert Richards."

"The man who replaced the one your father owed money to," Wesley said in a low voice as he approached.

Buffy tightened her grip. "That so? Don't you have underlings for this sort of thing?"

"I take a very personal, hands-on approach to things. That, and your case seemed quite interesting, at least from what I could piece together. Records were sort of scarce."

"How's this for interesting?" She lifted him up by the front of his shirt. "I'm no longer victim-rama girl. And I've got nothing to do with my father's issues. If you think I'm going to, you've got another thing coming. You take up whatever problems you have with him." Buffy tossed him a good five feet in the air, throwing him into the opposite wall, and then shouldering her axe and standing over him. "Because see, I know all about the _other_ underworld in this town—hell, I'm on my way to _beating up_ the other underworld in this town. You stay the hell away from me."

Richards was left lying painfully against the pavement. He watched as she and her crossbow toting friend walked not out of the alley, but down into the dark of it. His head was hurting too much to hear the girl's whispered, "Wow, I think I scared him." After a moment, he started to get to his feet, but a voice from above startled him.

"She sounds serious. I'd do what she says, mate."

With an impossible two-story drop, a black clad figure was suddenly on him, and he was confronted with a snarling, yellow-eyed visage. "Cause if you don't, I'll tear your neck out."

Richards was pulled to his feet by his throat and slammed against the wall with almost enough force to make him lose consciousness. Abruptly the figure stepped back, regarded him for a moment, then leisurely made its own way down the alley, stalking after the pair.

Richards slid down the wall. Hitting the ground, he considered things.

Hank Summers could perhaps be added to those few on the 'they can pay on their own time' list. Or more prudently, perhaps he could be forgotten all together.

But he knew two things with sudden surety. His new occupation would be cut short if he interfered with the inhumanly strong and pissed off girl. His life would be cut short if he attracted the attention of the _thing_ that followed her.


	24. Predators

If Joyce had noticed the fact that Buffy had been out late every night, she hadn't mentioned it. Though ever since Buffy had started college, she didn't have to report in unless she wasn't coming home that night. Still, she thought it would have earned at least a passing comment, even with the stress of the divorce and getting the house ready.

Buffy had fallen into an easy routine of going to class, coming home in the afternoons, and then heading out to train and/or patrol. Wesley had generously given her a key to the office so she could work out whenever she wanted.

Tonight they were on a patrol down some of the darker streets. The evening had been spectacularly uneventful. Buffy was just about to comment on it, when Fred suddenly let out an "eep" as she was grabbed and tugged backward into an alley.

Buffy turned around, but Wesley was closer.

"Why do you even let this one out?" came Spike's voice. "She's practically bait."

"Hey!" Fred exclaimed.

Spike let go and sauntered out of the shadows. "Free tip, luv. The weakest of the party should stay in the middle." His gaze slid to Wesley. "You should know that, Watcher. You must be slipping."

Wesley said nothing, but his hand automatically tightened around his crossbow.

"Now, don't do somethin' stupid and get yourself killed. I just came to see the little Slayer."

Buffy stood in place, unsure of what she was supposed to do, or wanted to do.

"I'd prefer you didn't," Wesley said.

"You gonna stop me?"

Wesley pressed his lips into a thin line, but didn't speak.

Spike grabbed Buffy's arm and pulled her a few steps away.

She glared at him. "Did you eat someone tonight?"

"Yes."

"Get away from me." She shook him off.

"Vampire, luv. I never denied it."

"Give me one reason I shouldn't stake you, too."

"Among other things, cause you can't."

"Just because you've got that ge—"

Spike clamped his hand over her mouth and pushed her into the wall.

"Gloves are off now, kitten. I'll tell you the same thing I first told the Watcher. You shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you. See, he knows how to pick his fights. There are a lot better things you could be doin' than worryin' about me."

Over his shoulder, Buffy saw Wesley give a barely perceptible nod.

Buffy pushed him off. "That girl in the alley, how was she different from me? I almost _was_ a girl in an alley, remember? She's just the same as me!"

"No, you got it backward. You're just the same as her."

"What?"

Spike leaned in. "None of you should be anything to me, except good for a kill or good for some cash."

"Then why are you here?"

"Just thought I'd see how you were takin' to the Slaying."

"Just fine!" she snapped, pushing away and heading down the street.

Spike trailed after her.

"What are you doing?!"

"Strolling."

"Well, _stroll_ in another direction. I've got work to do."

"Don't feel like it."

"_Vampires_ to slay," she said pointedly.

Spike stuck his hands in the pockets of his duster. "Go ahead."

"What, you don't have some sort of vampire solidarity thing going on?"

"Killed two myself the other night."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "They pissed me off."

As Wesley started after them—making sure Fred was _beside_ and not behind him—he realized that Buffy and Spike were bickering like lovers, not fighting like mortal enemies. Not that he particularly wanted Buffy to have to face off against Spike (_because right now she'd lose_, a voice whispered), but _why_ did his Slayers always sleep with vampires?

Though technically, he was no longer a Watcher, so Buffy wasn't his Slayer.

Wesley shifted his eyes back to the pair in front of him, one of which was obviously trying to distance herself as Spike lazily stalked after her. Wesley frowned. It seemed that he had been the only one to catch Spike's "should."

_None of you _**_should_**_ be anything to me._

He wondered if the vampire himself was aware of what he'd said.

Wesley's eyes narrowed. It never did to forget what Spike was, even if he had currently decided that Buffy was cute and it would be more fun to follow her than fight with her. But with Buffy's rejection of Spike, her sudden calling, and Spike's unpredictable nature and penchant for going after Slayers, the whole thing worried him.

Spike followed them for the rest of patrol, sometimes walking several lengths behind the group, sometimes sticking annoyingly close to Buffy's side.

Apparently Wesley wasn't the only one who thought it annoying.

"God, what is his deal?" Buffy exclaimed once they were back at the office.

"What do you think his 'deal' is?"

She was silent for a moment. "I don't know."

"Have you seen him since the night—"

"The night he killed that girl? No. And I don't want to." Her knuckles went white around the stake she was gripping.

"You're taking this personally, Buffy. You're too involved."

"So?! Even if I wasn't, he's a vampire! Who kills! And I'm supposed to be the Slayer."

Wesley sat down on the edge of the desk. "You mustn't provoke him, Buffy," he said seriously. "You'll lose. And frankly, I'm not sure what to make of Spike's little performance tonight. He didn't seem to have any clear objective when he arrived. For all we know, he could have been deciding whether or not he wanted to fight you, despite your history."

"He won't hurt me."

"If you push him into something, he's not going to let you win simply because you slept with him."

"I can't believe you just said that!"

"As I said before, though I had some reservations about your involvement with him, Spike doesn't go after those he's worked for. But Buffy, your being the Slayer could change that. I'm worried; this whole situation bothers me." There was a long pause. "Do you want to kill Spike?" he asked carefully.

Another long pause. "No." The arm holding the stake dropped to her side. "But I mean, I should, right? Should want to and should kill him. Sacred duty and all that."

Wesley took his glasses off. "Buffy, what I'm about to say is Council blasphemy, and even though I'm no longer a Council member, I'm only going to say it once. While it is your sacred duty to slay vampires, in Los Angeles alone there are hundreds, and more rise every night. You can never get them all. You can only hope to do as much good as you can do. No matter what you do, you can never save everyone, and you can never take out everything.

"Therefore, you shouldn't make it your mission to take out the one vampire that's it's nearly impossible to take out, _and_ who doesn't seem to have an immediate interest in killing you. There are plenty of other vampires to slay, and likewise, plenty of other vampires you'll never slay. You've been the Slayer a week. I don't want to see something happen to you."

Buffy studied him. "There's something you're not telling me."

"Spike kills Slayers, Buffy," he said flatly. "He hunts them down and he slaughters them. It's his claim to fame."

_…in New York I killed a Slayer for her…_ She'd heard him say it, but she hadn't known what it meant then, not really.

"You think he's going to come after me because I'm the Slayer."

"It's a possibility. Buffy, for now he's playing nice. Spike's unpredictable, but let him play nice for as long as it amuses him."

"I still don't think he'll hurt me," she said after a moment.

"I hope you're right. But for your sake, don't give him a reason to."

A silence.

"I don't want to kill him," Buffy said. "He saved my life twice, and I— But, it tears me up inside. What he does. How he could be so nice to me, so…tender, and then— It makes it even worse."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"I've seen other vamps. They're different. Maybe because they're younger or something? The point is, there's no way they could _not_ kill. Spike can."

Wesley frowned. "Yes, if he thinks it's worth his while."

"But that's just it! It's not like he's a killing machine. It's not like he only does it to feed, or because he's compelled to, has to. He's perfectly capable of living with a family for two weeks without any bloodshed. He. Can. Choose."

"Ah."

"That makes him like a serial killer or something. Not some random monster, but a calculating monster. God, why can't he just go away? I don't want to have anything to do with him. We should just both never see each other again."

"That would be best, I agree." He paused. "However, you may find that it's not that simple."


	25. Moves

Buffy was dreaming.

She was in an apartment. A _nice_ apartment. Big windows, fluffy bed, stylish sofa.

"Yeah, I might've had a little accident over by the Bronze."

A brunette girl was talking on the phone as she lay sideways on the bed, her booted heels carelessly scuffing the walls.

"Just a guy. He was getting grabby." A pause. "I know, I know. But hey, if you don't wanna take care of it, I'm sure my boy—" A longer pause. "No, he doesn't know anything. He's a good screw, but you know I'm with you all the way." Pause. "Nah, he doesn't play well with others." Another pause. "You will? Great! Thanks, sugar daddy——fine, thanks _boss_. I promise, no more accidents. Right. Later."

The girl hung up the phone and jumped off the bed with a bounce. She noticed Buffy after a moment and smiled.

"Don't fuck up like I did, 'kay?"

* * *

Wesley looked surprised when she entered his office.

"Buffy. I didn't expect to see you until tonight. Are you well rested from your night off yesterday?"

"Yes and no." She sat down on the opposite side of his desk and folded her arms. "I think you need to tell me about this Slayer of yours. The one who nearly killed you? I had another dream last night. She murdered someone, didn't she?"

He sighed. "Quite possibly. What did you see?"

"Dark hair, heavy makeup, skanky dresser? Right. Well, she was talking on the phone to someone about cleaning things up, like I'm thinking a body. And she mentioned sleeping with someone else. Then she looked at me and said not to mess up the way she did."

He was silent.

"Is she like warning me or something?"

"It's possible, though certainly not in her nature. Or wasn't when she was alive, anyway. More likely the dream is simply a message or a glimpse of the past, using the previous Slayer's image as a conduit."

"Okaaay. But whatever. Someone or something is trying to show me things, and I need you to tell me what happened."

Wesley closed his book. "Unfortunately, I don't know everything. No one does, except the involved parties." He sighed again. "Her name was Faith. She was sent to the Hellmouth—"

"The hell_what_?" Buffy asked. "Never mind, I can see that's a story for another day."

"She was sent to deal with the vampires there in the summer of last year. I arrived shortly afterward to be her Watcher. There were problems from the beginning.

"Faith had quite the cavalier attitude towards her duty and was only interested in Slaying when it suited her. She would disappear for days or even weeks at a time. We tried to enroll her in the local school when it started in the fall, but she hardly ever went to her classes. She very casually said that being the Slayer, she could do whatever she wanted. She loved the hunt, and she loved the kill. Faith loved her power, and was likewise drawn to power."

"Not the good kind of power, I'm guessing," Buffy said.

"Indeed. Sometime, she began a sexual relationship with one of the town's most dangerous vampires. It had apparently been going on for months when I found out about it. I confronted her at the end of last year on behalf of the Watcher's Council, which was nearly a fatal mistake on my part. Afterward, I was fired by the Council.

"The Council's special operations unit was sent to retrieve her. By this time I had left, but the movement of the unit is always news. They never returned, however. The Hellmouth has a way of making things not return, particularly as of late. She might have killed them herself, but it's more likely that she had help.

"From what I heard recently, she got my replacement killed and disappeared herself soon after." He paused. "As you're here, apparently it didn't work out well for her. I'm afraid that's all I can tell you. But if you wish to know more, I will contact the Council for you, loathe though I am to do it. Or I could give you the number of Mr. Giles. Although he never dealt with Faith as a Watcher, he was working there during that time. He won't know what happened to her, though; I doubt he even knows she's dead yet. But he might have more information on her more recent actions."

"Uh-huh. Well, she sounds interesting."

The phone suddenly rang.

"I'll let you get that," she said, standing. "See you for patrol later."

"We should talk more. If you have any questions—"

"No, that pretty much summed it up. Later!" she called, already halfway out the door.

Wesley picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, it would have been a courtesy to let the Council know you've located the next Slayer."

He paused as he realized this was a trans-Atlantic phone call.

"Yes, well. The Council has been severely lacking in courtesy."

"Come now, Wesley. We know you've been showing her the ropes. And while we will assign her a proper Watcher, we're willing to let her remain with you for the time being."

"I see. So what do you want?"

"We want the Slayer to be what she should be. After the debacle with the last one—"

"What do you want from _me_?"

"Now now, no reason to get testy. We've got time for a nice long chat, I think."

* * *

When Buffy got home, her mother was in the kitchen fixing a pasta and vegetable dish. Buffy dumped her purse on the counter and opened the refrigerator.

"Hi, honey. How was your day?"

"Fine." _I just found out the previous Slayer was some sort of slut with no morals. Oh, and she's haunting my dreams. Though it might not really be her._

"Well, I've got some news."

"Good news or bad news?" she said absently, pulling out a yogurt. The fridge door shut behind her.

"Good, I hope. Or maybe both, it depends."

Buffy paused. "Mom?"

"I had an offer on the house. It was just a few days ago, but it looks like everything is going to go through."

"That was fast."

Joyce laughed. "I've severely under priced it. But a bird in the hand, you know. It'll take a while to get the paperwork done, but the family seemed very interested and very happy with everything."

"Well, that's good, right?"

"Definitely." She paused, handing Buffy a spoon. "But here's the part that might be bad. I've had a job offer out of town. I'm thinking of moving. It's a nice town, and the living expenses are cheaper than they are here. I know it would be fast, but a gallery has offered me a position starting at the beginning of the year."

"Oh." Buffy frowned. "So you'd be leaving."

"Well—and here's where it gets crazy—I was thinking we could go together. I know, I know, you probably don't want to move and live with your mother. You're an adult now, and you've got your life here. But Sunnydale has a nice university, and I thought it would be a good change after everything that's happened. You could go to school, and—but if you want to stay in L.A., I understand. I'll pay for a dorm for you, or help you get your own apartment."

"Wow," she finally said. "That's just, a lot to take in."

"Don't make up your mind overnight. But think about it, sweetie?"

Buffy nodded as she sat down at the counter. Maybe it was something to think about.

* * *

Later that evening, Buffy went back to the office to meet Wesley and Fred for patrol. After gathering everything up and heading out, she was somewhat irritated to find Spike loitering by the office door. Abruptly she realized that her ever-present tingles were probably because of him. Which then made her wonder why he had been following her for so long.

But determined not to give him any encouragement, she walked past without speaking and went about patrol as if he weren't there. He hung back, but followed her the entire evening.

Whenever she happened to glance in his direction—because she was _so_ not looking—she would find him staring at her intently. Whenever she dusted a vampire, he would slowly clap, much to her annoyance.

However, it wasn't until a fight with a vamp who had obviously been a street punk before he was turned that Spike had approached the group. The fight had turned particularly ugly when Buffy was caught off guard as the guy pulled a knife and managed to slice into her shoulder. Spike hadn't lifted a finger to help—_not_ that she wanted him to—but immediately after she dusted the vamp, he slipped up on her from behind.

"Bleeding again, Slayer?"

Before she realized what he was doing, Spike had his mouth fastened on her shoulder, and was sucking away like some sort of…sucking thing. When she turned, he met her eyes unashamedly, leeringly. Part of her knew she should push him off, but that part didn't seem to be in control of her body.

After a moment, he pulled back and gave her an appreciative smile before kissing her lightly.

She could taste her blood on his lips.

"Later, luv," he breathed, before walking away.

Buffy had the feeling that something horribly intimate had just happened. In front of two other people, no less.

Fred was nervously glancing upward, apparently very interested in the fire escape. Wesley was a horrified statue, staring blankly ahead as if he were too stunned to process what he'd just seen.

On second thought, maybe it was just plain horrible.

_Oh crap._


	26. Decisions

"Fred, would you get the first aid kit, please?"

Buffy sat on the edge of the desk and pulled her hair to one side as Wesley inspected the wound on her shoulder.

_He's going to say something. I know he's going to say something. Why doesn't he just get on with it?_

"You've let Spike do that before? Drink your blood?"

"It was right after I found out. We were in the kitchen and I cut my finger."

Wesley was silent.

"I was bleeding, he was a vampire—it seemed like the thing to do. It was barely a few drops." She shrugged.

"Yes, well. But I can't stress enough the impropriety, the insanity, of allowing him your blood. It's incredibly stupid—and dangerous; a few drops can quickly become more, or _all_ of it. Especially now that you're the Slayer. Your blood is powerful, practically an elixir to vampires. Under any circumstances, you should _not_ let—"

"I didn't exactly invite him over!"

"You didn't exactly stop him." He paused, taking the kit from Fred, who immediately disappeared again. Wesley began to disinfect the cut. "Don't let it happen again."

"Okay, okay."

"I don't like this, Buffy."

"What, you think he's been following me around, waiting for something to cut me?"

"Probably not. But he didn't hesitate to take advantage of the situation."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Buffy demanded. "You told me not to push it. I can't make him go away. Besides being annoying, what's he really done on patrol?"

"Spike has been nothing but vaguely threatening ever since you became the Slayer, and even before," he said. "He has obviously been following you. He chose to make his appearance on patrol by pulling _Fred_ into an alley. He reminded me what would happen if I made a move against him— He would, Buffy," Wesley cut off her protest as she started to open her mouth. "He's told me flat out that if I ever decide to start something, he'll kill me. And tonight he came up after you were injured and took his fill. It was a reminder, a reminder that right now there's nothing we can do but let him."

"Or maybe he was hungry," she said sarcastically. "Or maybe he li—" _OK, _**_so_**_ not bringing that up. Besides, there's nothing flattering about a vampire liking your blood and wanting more of it._ "And what do you mean, 'even before?' What did he do before? Did he threaten you?"

"Sort of. He threatened to threaten me."

Buffy looked at Wesley. "I think you're reading too much into things."

"You don't know him," he said gravely.

"Maybe not as long as you have—"

"I can't believe you're defending him, after you saw him—"

"I am _not_ defending that. But I still say Spike won't hurt me. And I'm not going to waste my time worrying about something that hasn't happened. Period." She hopped off the desk, fingering the sliced ends of her tank top strap. Slaying was obviously going to be taxing on the wardrobe.

"Well then," Wesley said, changing the subject, "perhaps we should worry about something that has happened."

"What do you mean?" she asked, a bit preoccupied with trying to see how big a bandage he'd put on her.

"The Council has contacted me about the Slayer. About you."

Buffy turned her head. "What about me?"

He leaned back against the desk. "The Council feels that it would be prudent to have a Slayer present on the Hellmouth. They want you to go there."

"First off, what's a Hellmouth?"

"It's basically a hotspot of paranormal energy beneath the ground. Also a possible portal between realities. The point is, it attracts vampires, demons, and all sorts of entities with its mystical properties. Without the presence of a Slayer, the town has become quite overrun. Case in point, the Aurelian vampires."

"These were the vampires that Faith was sent to fight?"

"Yes, although there may have been a change in their number. The oldest of the Aurelian line is also reputed to be there. But all we know for certain is that Angelus has been running things. He's the one Faith took up with."

Buffy crossed her arms. "What if I don't want to?"

"Certainly, no one can force you to. Recent events have shown that Slayers are hard to force to do anything. However, the Council has been known to resort to…forceful persuasion in the past."

She raised an eyebrow.

"The Council doesn't like Slayers opposing them. But as their operations unit is out of commission, I doubt they're in a position to do anything right now. But more importantly, they are eager to welcome a new Slayer and establish a good relationship."

"Uh-huh."

"Buffy," he said seriously, "I know this must be difficult. But there are people there that need help, help that only a Slayer can give. Mr. Giles would be your Watcher. He's a good man. You could do a lot of good."

She sighed. "So where is this Hellmouth? Like in Brazil or something?"

"Actually, it's a town not a few hours from here called Sunnydale."

Buffy looked up sharply. "Whoa. Did you say Sunnydale? My mother was just offered a job in Sunnydale."

"Yes. The Council is trying to make this as easy and appealing for you as possible."

"And what are you supposed to be doing?"

Wesley busied himself putting items back in the first aid kit. "I no longer work for the Council. I don't have to do anything they say. I did, however, agree to impart their information to you, simply because I thought it would be easier to hear from me."

"What about not wanting anything to happen to me?" Buffy asked. "Now I'm supposed to go fight these powerful vampires?"

He turned to face her. "While it wouldn't be my first idea to send you to the Hellmouth, Buffy, I believe you can do this. And though I will miss your company, I think this could be a good change for you. You'll be able to come into your own. And practically speaking, your mother is already moving there. You said you're selling the house here."

"Did the Council manage _that_ too?"

"No, that was just fortuitous."

"If I don't go, will my mom lose the job?"

"Possible, though unlikely," Wesley said. "The Council merely pulled some strings to get her noticed. She is highly qualified for the position, I understand."

"School? I'll never get in this late."

"They'll arrange that."

She sighed. Being the Slayer was about fighting evil, helping people. She wanted to do good. But she had sort of gotten used to doing good here, in the short amount of time that she had been the Slayer, that is. And she dusted random vamps in alleys; here, there wasn't a particular fight that she was fighting, no established evil just waiting for her. "What do you think? Honestly?"

"I think it's a challenge, but not one that you'll be unable to meet. You've shown great promise, and you would undoubtedly benefit from the tutelage of an older and more experienced Watcher. Mr. Giles has never had a Slayer, but he has had years of experience on the Hellmouth. He's been monitoring it for the Council for some time. I believe you can do this." He paused. "And I think a change of scenery would be good for you."

She realized what wasn't being said: Spike would be less likely to follow her around if she were hours away and in another town. Especially if he didn't know she was going.

Buffy made up her mind on the spot. It was probably not the best thing to do, but something told her that even if she waited, the answer would be the same.

"I'll go. You tell the Council, I'll tell my mother."

* * *

-  
-_  
__October, 1998:_

_"I bet we could find all _**_sorts_**_ of interesting things to do together." Faith glanced over him appreciatively. "Cause this? It's getting old." She kicked at him, quickly compensating and spinning to face him when he feinted. "Nothing like Slaying to get a girl going, if you know what I mean."_

_"Playing it dangerous, don't you think? I could kill you during."_

_She flipped a stake, then ran her hand over it suggestively. "So could I. Kinda gives you a rush, huh? My stake at your heart as you fuck the life out of me." She grinned. "I need a man who likes it rough and knows how to ride. C'mon, I bet you're just itching to do a Slayer."_

_"What part of vampire/Slayer don't you get?" He threw a punch at her._

_She dodged. "But that's what makes it kinky. Much as we beat each other up, wouldn't it be more fun when we're locked together? Or do you only like virgins? Cause, I can do role playing."_

_He shook his finger. "You're asking for it."_

_"Baby, you're going to be _**_begging_**_ for it."_

_Angelus grinned widely. "My place or yours?"_

_Faith spun and staked a newly risen vampire who was staggering toward her from behind. "Right here on the ground is fine with me." She pushed him down on the loose grave soil._

_"Most Slayers are all high and righteous. Did they not give you the job description?"_

_"I slay, I fight. It's a thankless job. Half the idiots in this fucking town don't have a clue that I put my life on the line every night. And I got sick of it a long time ago. I deserve a reward." She moved to straddle him, holding the stake over his heart as she unbuckled his pants. "I'm a girl who gets what she wants. I want, I take, I have."_

_"That's always been my way of thinking," he said, flipping her over. He ripped her jeans down and entered her in one brutal thrust._

_It was Faith, however, who started the rhythm, bucking back before he had a chance to. She grinned up at him. "Baby, I've got muscles you never even dreamed of."_


	27. Burdens

_January, 1999:_

_"Back already?" She grinned. "It hasn't been twenty-four hours."_

_"You," Angelus ground out, "need to stop making my life more difficult."_

_"I'd say for the last few months I've been making your life anything but…difficult."_

_"I can't _**_work_**_ without minions."_

_"Hey, just cause I'm banging you doesn't mean I'm stopping the Slayage. You stopping the killing? Hmm, didn't think so."_

_"Go slay all you want. But _**_lay off_**_ what's mine."_

_"Dude, a vamp's a vamp. You can always make more." She shrugged and then smiled. "Long as you're here, wanna go again?"_

-

-

* * *

Spike didn't put in an appearance the next night, though if her Slayer sense was anything to go by, he wasn't that far behind her. The night after, he appeared about halfway through her patrol with Wesley.

"You've been following me, haven't you?" she demanded as he came to walk beside her.

"Maybe."

Buffy looked away. "For how long?"

"'bout a week."

"Are you watching my back or something? Like before?"

"More like just watching."

"Again with the creepy. Well, cut it out," she said, glancing at him. "I don't like it."

Spike grinned. "Then this _would_ be stalking, for the record."

Buffy looked at Wesley, who walked a few paces ahead of them. He hadn't spoken since Spike appeared, or even acknowledged him.

She sighed. "If you're going to be around anyway—you could have helped me the other night, you know."

"Did you need my help?"

"No!" she suddenly exclaimed. "A world of no."

"Not like he was about to do you in."

"Ugh. Fine. So what, was Wesley right? You're just lurking around until you get another chance at a dose of Buffy blood?"

"Wasn't my plan, but it sounds like a good one."

They passed under a streetlight and Buffy paused in the glow.

"What was your plan?"

Spike seemed to study her. "To get you outta my head."

"Is it working?"

"No," he admitted.

She started to walk again, and they fell into an awkward silence. Spike didn't seem inclined to say anything more, and Buffy couldn't think of anything else she wanted to say. One small, feminine part of her was thrilled that he hadn't gotten over her. The other part was insulted that he was trying to get over her. But the biggest part was asking why she should care at all, since she was the one who had left him.

A vampire on the next side street provided a welcome distraction. Spike was completely forgotten as she sized up her opponent.

Buffy stepped forward as the vampire growled, and held her stake high. He grabbed at her, but she evaded, jumping back. She made the next move, bringing her stake down toward his heart. He ducked, dropping to the ground and kicking her legs out from underneath her as her momentum carried her past. The next thing she knew, she was on the pavement and he was on top of her; her stake arm was pinned and his mouth was on her neck.

Then suddenly he was gone, ripped from her with such force that her arm was twisted painfully in his grip as he was yanked away. She grabbed her stake and stood, only to see Spike systematically thrashing the vampire with brutal efficiency. She was slightly struck, and just a little horrified to see him in full action. _I can't beat that_, the thought came.

To her right, she noticed Wesley watching as well. After a moment, he caught her glance and gave her a look. It was detached, but there was also a _'See?'_

However, before she could decide exactly which thing Wesley was trying to make a point about, a completely different thought entered her head. If Spike hadn't been there—_would Wesley have been fast enough?_—that could have been it for her.

Sure, she knew that what she did was dangerous, but this had been a wake up call. One wrong move, one mistake, and she would be on the ground and dead.

Buffy knew that Faith had died young, but in her mind she had somehow equated it with her being a murderer. However, now a whole new idea occurred to her.

She turned to face Wesley.

"How long do Slayers live?"

"Buffy…"

"How. Long."

"Rarely longer than a few years." He sighed. "A year is average."

"Oh my God." Buffy felt tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. She saw him start to say something else. "Don't. I'm leaving."

As she made for the street, Wesley turned to look at Spike, who had beaten the vampire unconscious and was watching Buffy's retreating form.

Wesley walked over and staked it. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Spike shrugged.

"It seems I'm in your debt once again."

"Didn't do it for you," he spat.

Wesley paused. He knew he could be venturing into dangerous territory. But he also had to know what Spike intended toward Buffy. "Why did you do it? To save her life?"

Spike spun on him. "Of course to save her life! What the bloody hell do you think?!"

"I don't know what to think anymore. Frankly, your actions are all over the board. One moment you're smitten, the next predatory. I don't know what you're playing at, Spike, but—"

"Yeah? Well, neither do I."

The statement took Wesley by surprise. "Are you trying to decide?" he asked.

"What?"

"Decide what to do. This following her, watching her. You're obsessed."

"Shut. Up."

"You don't know whether you want to kiss her or kill her."

The next instant Wesley was struggling to breathe. He was slammed against the brick wall and Spike's hand was tightening around his throat.

"I don't have that little dilemma with you."

"Buffy will—" he gasped.

"Think you mean that much to her?"

"—she'll hate you f-for the k-killing."

Just as Wesley was sure he was about to lose consciousness, the pressure on this throat vanished. He coughed and sputtered while Spike watched with a clinical look, as if he weren't the one who had nearly choked him.

After a moment, he stepped back and Wesley slid down the wall.

"What did she say to you?"

Wesley didn't look up. "That what you did tore her up inside."

He gave a bitter laugh. "Good that we're not together then."

Wesley risked a glance upward.

Spike was gone.

* * *

Buffy went back to the office to pick up her car, and she realized that she didn't really feel like going home. Instead, she unlocked the door and went inside, heading for the back room. When Wesley came back ten minutes later—looking rather disheveled—she was furiously hitting the punching bag.

He watched her a moment, then asked, "Would you like to spar?"

"Fine."

"Staffs?"

"Fine."

She continued punching while he got the equipment and set things up. He tossed her a staff, and they began to circle.

She hit, he blocked. "A year, huh?"

"I'm sorry."

She lunged, he feinted. "So when were you going to tell me? That I'm not going to live long enough to graduate college?"

"It's not something most Watchers bring up. It doesn't usually occur to the girls, frankly. They're too young to understand the risks."

She blocked, and then went back on the offensive. "That makes it okay?"

"No," he admitted.

"Were," _hit_ "you," _jab_ "going to," _twist_ "tell me?!"

"When it came up."

"When it came up? I almost died _tonight_." Strike, twirl. "_Spike_ saved my life. _Again_." She knocked his staff away and swept his feet out from underneath him.

"Yes, I was already painfully aware of that fact." He sat up. "I seem to be making rather a poor go of it this evening."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"If it's okay with you, I think I'd like to be alone now."

"It's fine." Wesley got to his feet and exited the room. Buffy heard him gathering up his things, and then he left. The lights in the office were out, and the door was locked behind him.


	28. Sessions

After Wesley left, Buffy stood in the room listening to the silence. The words echoed back at her.

_Rarely longer than a few years. A year is average. … I'm sorry._

Buffy kicked the punching bag, and then she went back to hitting it. _I didn't ask for this, I didn't ask for any of this. Bad enough that I don't have a choice, but now I have an expiration date?_

She was determined not to cry. With a sudden mental hardening, she knew she couldn't whine about it, she simply had to beat it. She attacked the punching bag with a new fury. _I'll be the best Slayer. I am _**_not_**_ going to die young. I _**_will_**_ be a better fighter._

"You're gonna break that."

She whirled around to find Spike right behind her.

"How did you get in here?" she demanded.

"I'll have you know breakin' and enterin' is a necessary skill."

"Did you break Wesley's door?"

"_No_." Spike sounded almost insulted. He quickly flashed a thin, twisted piece of metal before putting it back in his pocket.

"What are you doing here?"

He raised an eyebrow.

Buffy sighed. "I suppose I should thank you. Again."

Spike suddenly kicked her legs out from under her. Less than a second and he was on her; his thighs trapped hers and his hands locked her arms down.

"Geez Spike, mood change much? What are you doing?"

"Continuin' our little dirty moves session. Now, what are you gonna do?"

"Wait until you unzip your pants?" she asked dryly.

He smirked. "You gotta stop thinkin' like a girl, and start thinkin' like a Slayer. I don't need my hands free to get what I want."

Spike leaned down and slowly sucked at her neck. It wasn't quite a kiss, but it definitely wasn't hickey-leaving territory. He pulled back and grinned at her. "See?"

"Fine. Are you going to let me up now?"

"I haven't decided."

"Spike…"

"You're the Slayer. Throw me off yourself."

Buffy writhed and struggled against his weight. "I can't."

"Seriously."

"Seriously, I can't."

Spike sighed and stood, pulling her up with him. "Right. Then you just gotta work on not gettin' in that position."

"Right. So—"

She was cut off as Spike swept her legs out from underneath her. Another second and he was on top of her again, pinning her arms at her sides.

"Spike, what the hell?!"

"Gotta keep your guard up, luv."

"Not with you I don't," she complained.

"Why not?" He leaned in, and whispered in her ear, "I'd have you dead right here."

"I am going to be able to beat you one day, you know."

"Not if you keep lettin' vampires get this close to your neck." His lips grazed her throat.

"I _will_."

"Maybe," he agreed, pulling back slightly. "But you can't kill me."

"Because of that gem? It's that dumb ankle bracelet, right?"

"Smart little thing, aren't you?"

"I _have_ seen you naked one and a half times."

"If you think you're gonna seduce it off me…" He smirked.

"Puh-lease," she huffed. "Well, you can't kill me, either."

"I could kill you right now."

"There are different kinds of can't," she said softly.

Spike's jaw clenched as his face hovered over hers. "You think I couldn't do it? You think I couldn't drain you? Your Watcher thinks I could. Do you know what a boost Slayer blood is to vamps?"

"Let me up."

"No." His grip on her tightened.

Buffy felt the edges of panic beginning to set in. He might not kill her, but she didn't want to be bitten like this. "Spike, I'm not kidding."

"Neither am I."

"Let me up!"

"Maybe I _will_ take a taste."

She brought her head up in a quick motion and cracked her forehead against his.

"Bloody hell!" Caught off guard, Spike brought a hand to his head, and Buffy pushed him off the next second.

As soon as Spike was on his feet, he moved to kick her legs out from under her again, but Buffy jumped to avoid it. She fell back into a fighting stance and stuck her chin out defiantly.

Slowly he began to circle her. She turned, moving opposite him and waiting for his move or her own opportunity. He punched, she blocked. He lunged, she feinted.

She kicked, and he caught her leg in midair.

A twist and she was suddenly down on the mat, Spike straddling her hips and holding her hands in place with his own. Buffy struggled, but it was useless; she wasn't getting any sort of leverage this time. He had her again.

She met Spike's gaze a bit uncertainly. "Well?"

He looked down at her. Then he suddenly jumped off and moved away. Buffy also stood, falling back into a half crouch as she stepped back. Spike, however, didn't seem inclined to make another move. He was just staring at her like he couldn't quite believe what they were doing.

"What, Spike?" she demanded.

Spike shook his head and muttered something about 'sparring with the sodding Slayer.' Then he straightened his coat and walked out of the room without a word. Buffy stared after him. He had officially lost his mind, she decided.

In a flash it occurred to her that Spike had repeatedly pinned her the exact same way that the vampire who had almost killed her had.

A thought struck her.

It was stupid. It was asking for trouble. It was possibly suicidal.

But she was doing it.

* * *

The last thing Spike expected to see was Buffy. But here it was, nearly two in the morning, and she was knocking on his door. She threw a paper bag that smelled of burgers in the trash as she entered, and then she took a sip of her icy orange drink.

"We need to talk."

Spike regarded her. She was obviously in a state about something. Her heart was pounding furiously. "Didn't figure you had much to say to me, pet."

Buffy took a deep breath. It had taken her hours to work up the nerve to come over here, and now that she was here, she wasn't sure it was such a good idea. Or at all a good idea.

"As much as I don't want there to be an us right now," she started, "there's something. I know it, you know it, hell, even Wesley knows it. But it's all twisted and complicated and I need to have it all worked out in my head before— If I ask you a question, will you answer it?"

"Whatever you want."

"Okay."

"You wanna sit down?"

"No."

Spike watched as Buffy started pacing. Oh yeah, she was agitated.

She took another gulp of her jumbo drink. After a moment, she stopped and turned to face him.

"Are you in love with me?"


	29. Admissions

"Are you in love with me?"

Spike stared at her. The silence dragged on.

"You're stuck in me," he finally said. "Love? I don't know. I was on the way, maybe, but didn't exactly have time." He looked at her.

"So you're not?"

"I s'pose not. Don't get me wrong, luv, I like you. A lot. More than I should like anyone, definitely more than I should like the Slayer."

"I suppose that's good. It'll make things simpler if you're not."

"Excuse me?"

She looked at him blankly, as if pulled from her train of thought.

"Don't s'pose you're in love with me?" Spike retorted.

"If things were different. I thought I was."

"If you weren't the Sl—"

"If you weren't a killer!" she blurted. Then, "This Slayer thing bugs you, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it bloody well bugs me! Vampires _don't_ have warm and fuzzy feelings for the sodding _Slayer_."

"Then why are you following me?"

"Cause I can't get you out of my head. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, especially when I should want to kill you."

"You don't want to kill me," Buffy said, crossing her arms.

"Vampires kill Slayers."

"But you don't want to kill Buffy."

"Buffy, you _are_ the Slayer!"

"And you don't want to kill _me_!"

"No!" he yelled back, looking slightly startled.

"But you've killed Slayers before," she said. "Yeah, Wesley filled me in on that."

"So I've done a Slayer or two, so what?" He ran his tongue over his teeth. "Or _three_, I should say."

"I wasn't the Slayer when you did me," she said matter-of-factly, not even taking the time to be affronted by his implication.

Spike caught her arm and pinned her in place with his gaze. "You were perfect, Buffy," he said. "We were perfect, we were so good together." He pointed to the bed. "Right over there, I know you felt it."

She tried hard not to follow the direction of his arm with her eyes. "That was before."

"You were in me before, you're in me now—I can't get you out. I should wanna get you out—bad enough that you were human, but this?"

"Newsflash, Spike. The Slayer thing is not our only problem. In fact, it's not a problem for me at all. I left you before I was the Slayer, remember? Even if I wasn't the Slayer, I couldn't be with you now. I can't be with someone who kills."

"I'm a _vampire_."

"You don't have to."

"Be a vampire?" he asked incredulously.

"Kill!" Buffy pulled away from him and started pacing again. She drained the last of her styrofoam cup and threw it in the trash. "How long have I been in your head?"

"You said you had a question, not twenty."

Buffy shot him a look. "How long?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. "You were just there. Since we danced, since we kissed, since I saved you, since I tasted you—none of it, all of it."

"Then why when you left, did you say we should never see each other again?"

"I was tryin' to protect you!"

"From what?"

"Me."

Oh, she wasn't sure she wanted to hear this. But like watching a train wreck, she couldn't stop. "Why?"

"Cause I liked you too much for somethin' to happen to you."

"What? What was going to happen to me, Spike?"

He stepped into her space. "_I_ was gonna happen to you. You asked me if I bit every girl I slept with? Yeah, I bit them. I fucked 'em and drained 'em dry."

Buffy blanched, looking at him with a certain amount of horror and a certain amount of hurt. "Were you going to do that with me?"

"No! But I didn't know how to deal with you. You were _supposed_ to be a job. I was supposed to keep you alive, get paid, and then walk away and never think of you again. That's how it _works_. You weren't supposed to make me want— I was gonna keep you safe, and if that meant from me as well, then better that I not see you again."

"But you didn't."

Spike stared down at her.

"Do anything," she clarified.

"No."

"Did you want to?"

"No. But I didn't think there was any other way for it to end. I'm a vampire. You're right, I kill. But I didn't wanna kill you, so I stayed away from you. Or tried to."

"And now?" They were still standing so close.

"It was the only way to see you. I knew, I knew you weren't comin' back. And I knew that I shouldn't care about you, especially after you became—so I watched, I followed."

"But you saved me tonight."

"Bloody hell, you think I was just gonna stand there and watch him kill you?"

Silence.

Buffy stepped away, momentarily turning her side to him. "Are you obsessed with me?"

He laughed. "That's just what your Watcher said, before I slammed him into a wall."

"Did you hurt him?" she asked sharply.

Spike's look darkened. "He's still alive, isn't he?"

There was another silence.

"Okay," Buffy finally said.

"Okay? Okay, what?"

"I'm leaving, you know," she said abruptly.

"What?"

"I'm going to Sunnydale."

"The Hellmouth," he said. Then, "Were you gonna tell me?"

"I'm telling you now. Yeah, I'm going to the Hellmouth. And apparently, besides all the usual stuff that goes on there, some gang of vampires has taken over. And _I'm_ supposed to go fight them. Me. I thought I could do it, you know? Slayer here, after all. But after last night—"

"Hey now, that was just a little slip up."

"Don't. You, of all people, don't. That's all it takes, isn't it? Just one little slip, and bang! Dead Slayer. Was that what it took when you did it? Well, was it?"

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"I don't want to be the world's shortest lived Slayer."

He started to point out that she probably wasn't, but decided against it.

"I don't want to die. I don't think I can do this."

Spike was at a loss for words. Part of him wanted to comfort her, tell her everything was going to be all right. But besides having no clue how to go about it, he couldn't lie to her like that. However, what she said next completely threw him.

"I want to hire you. To work for me, to come to Sunnydale."

"Come again, luv?"

"To patrol with me, to fight with me, to train with me. This Giles guy who's supposed to be my Watcher? He's older than Wesley, apparently. Sure, techniques and stuff, but I need someone I can fight against full out. I realized that when you made me fight you tonight. I need to know what I can do, need to push myself. I have to be the best. Because I want to live."

"You don't know what you're saying."

"Yes, I do," Buffy said. "Hire you. Business. Wesley says you're all about the business. Any job for the right price, isn't it?"

Spike glared at her. "You know how much I was gettin' paid to watch you when you were just a girl? It'd take a lot more than that for me to watch the Slayer's back, fight alongside the Slayer, fucking _train_ the Slayer to more efficiently slay vampires. That's a whole other deal than me lurkin' around alleys and killin' the stray nasty while you patrol."

"You won't miss stalking me?"

"Oh, I'll miss you, pet," he said, his expression softening slightly. "I'll even worry, wonder, 'bout you. But let's face facts. I'm not gonna change and neither are you. Maybe this is for the best."

"I'm not buying it."

He scowled again. "Good, cause I'm not sellin' it."

"Are you telling me you wouldn't have followed me there?"

Spike shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe, maybe not. That's a lot of effort for someone who hates me, no matter how stuck in me they are."

"I don't," Buffy said. "Hate you. I even like you, most of the time. But, I don't think I can love you."

"Fair enough, pet." He sighed. "Though, I probably at least would've dropped by to give you what for for not tellin' me you were gonna leave."

"I'm leaving," she repeated, moving directly in front of him. "And I need your help. C'mon Spike, what's it gonna cost? Everyone has a price."

"You couldn't pay it. Sorry, luv, but that's the way it is."

Buffy steeled herself. "Well, how's this? Something money can't buy."

"Yeah, what's that, then?" he scoffed.

"Blood. My blood. Come with me, help me, and you can have your own personal supply of Slayer blood, fresh from the source."

Spike stared at her.

"Done."

* * *

-  
-_  
__Sunnydale, present:_

_"Angelus!" Darla called, not looking up from her fashion magazine. "She's doing it again." She referred to Drusilla, who was writhing on the table and moaning._

_"Take care of it!"_

_"I can't," Darla singsonged. "You know she only stops for you these days."_

_He came into the room and stood before Dru, who was reaching and pulling as if at invisible cords in the air. He grabbed one of her arms. "Dru, what is it? What do you see?"_

_"The naughty Slayer." She laughed. "Daddy shouldn't have killed her. Now you've brought it all down upon us."_

_"Brought what? Is something coming?"_

_"Only Miss Edith knows." She brought Angelus's hand to her lips and ran her tongue over it. "And she won't tell us yet."_


	30. Contracts

_A/N: Thank you again to everyone who has left reviews!_

* * *

"You've got yourself a deal, luv."

"There are conditions," Buffy said, holding up a finger.

"I don't doubt it."

"You can't be killing."

"I figured as much." He looked uninterested.

"I'm serious, Spike," she said firmly. "I can deal with it—just. I can _just_ deal with it if I know you're not doing it now. Can you not do it?"

"I just said so, didn't I?"

"No. I want your word."

"What?"

"I was told that you keep your word. I can't ask you to come with me if you're going to be killing people. I can't _take_ you there, knowing that—" Buffy broke off.

Spike studied her a moment. "I give you my word that I won't kill anyone."

"Good."

He smirked. "Unless you tell me to."

Buffy glared at him. "I also have the final word on the Slaying and how it's done. I'll expect you to train with me and watch my back on patrol. Help me fight if it gets ugly, and help me when I have to fight the vampires in charge. Do you agree?"

"Yes." Then he grinned. "Now, about your end of the deal. How much?"

"What?"

"How much blood?"

"Um, I don't know," Buffy stammered. "I'd have to look that up, medically. I mean, I can't end up anemic or anything."

"Fair enough. Well then, to seal the deal, I'd like a taste."

"Here?" she squeaked. "Now?"

"No time like the present. Call it a gesture on your part." He moved closer and brushed his lips with hers. "You knew this would happen," he said, "or you wouldn't have downed that oversized drink before coming here."

"Okay, fine," Buffy said, tilting her head awkwardly. "Um, go ahead, I guess."

Spike moved his attentions to her neck, and she felt rather than saw his face change. He ran his tongue over her skin, and settling on a spot, began to suck, pulling the blood to the surface. A moment later, his fangs pierced her flesh.

Buffy gasped. It hurt more than she thought it would. On instinct she tried to back up and pull away, but he countered, grabbing her arms and pushing her up against the wall. Spike had her trapped with his body, and Buffy realized that she didn't have the leverage to push him off. He could drain her right here and she wouldn't be able to do a thing about it.

_No, he won't. / What if he can't stop?_

Buffy felt her head spin, but Spike had already pulled out. Her hand flew to her neck, and she realized that he was holding her up.

"Can you stand?"

"Yes, I can stand," she snapped, shaking him off. She was still between him and the wall, and he didn't move away.

"No need to get snarky, luv. It was your idea." He was out of vamp face, but he licked his lips appreciatively. He trailed his hand over hers where it covered the puncture on her neck.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing. You should put some antiseptic on that, though. Don't have any here."

Buffy stared at him. "The vampire is worried about antiseptic?"

"I'm just saying." Spike shrugged, letting his hand drop. He turned. "C'mon, where you parked?"

"You're going to walk me to my car?" she asked, her mouth falling open.

"That blood'll be callin' to every nasty thing around. Can't very well have you gettin' killed, not when I've had an advance."

"Yeah, it's cause you got paid that I'd get killed."

He smirked, opening the door. "You do realize you've made a deal with the devil, Slayer?"

"Yes. Which is why I'm not going to tell anyone, and neither are you," she said as they walked out. "And don't call me that."

"It's what you are."

"Shut up. What do you know?" She started up the stairs to the street.

"I know a thing or two about Slayers."

"Fine. Are you working for me right now?"

"No."

Buffy realized what that meant, among other things, but tried not to think about it. "Well, are you going to follow me on patrol?"

"Probably."

"Do it from a distance. Don't show up unless something goes wrong, and don't bug Wesley anymore. Or threaten him. He's practically having fits."

"Fine," Spike grumbled.

"You also won't tell anyone—living, dead, or otherwise—about our deal. I'm finishing up class next week, finals the week after that, and then Mom and I are moving to the new house. You'll come to Sunnydale no later than the beginning of the year."

He grinned. "You're the boss."

They had reached her car. "I am. You're working for me, not with me."

He grinned again. "I'm yours to command, Slayer."

"This is business, Spike."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

"It's nothing else."

She got in and shut the door.

"It can't be," he heard her say softly.

Spike watched as Buffy drove off.

Certainly this wasn't something he had anticipated, but he wasn't complaining. Buffy was paying him with her own blood to stalk her and fight with her.

He wasn't sure if he would have followed her to Sunnydale or not, if she hadn't made her offer. He'd spent enough years trailing after one woman who didn't want him, and he wasn't looking to do a repeat performance.

But no matter what she said, Buffy wanted him around. On some level, at least. And he, well, he did want her alive. If that meant going with her, then so be it. Maybe something would come of it. Maybe not.

Everything else aside, there was still the Slayer blood.

Spike licked his lips again. There was nothing about this that he wasn't going to enjoy.

Business. He could do business.

* * *

-

-

_Three weeks later:_

Buffy stood in Wesley's office.

"Well, I guess I'll see you guys. Or, maybe I won't see you. I mean, I'm sure I'll be back sometime, even just for a visit."

"I'm gonna miss you," Fred said, giving her a hug. "You've got my email address, right?"

Buffy nodded.

"Drop a line any time. Just to chat, or if you have a Calculus problem—or any demon languages, Wesley'll look them up for you."

Buffy looked at Wesley. "Is my new Watcher not smart?"

"What? Oh, of course he is. But everyone has their strengths. Mr. Giles indeed is quite learned, and has more practical, hands-on field knowledge than I ever will. But the books were my specialty. At the Academy I was head boy, you know."

"Uh-huh."

"Here," he said, pulling out a small box.

"No more presents," Buffy said, holding up her hands. "You already gave me a dozen stakes, a short sword, and my very own crossbow. A girl doesn't forget her first crossbow."

"One more thing, I insist." He opened the box to reveal a necklace with a plain silver cross on it.

"Wow. That looks really old. It isn't like a family heirloom or something?"

"Nah," Fred said, "I've got the family heirloom."

"I always intended to give this to my Slayer, if I had one. I would be honored if you would take it."

"Faith…?"

"Threw it back at me."

Buffy took the chain and fastened it around her neck. "Thank you. For everything."

* * *

"Is this the last of it?" Cordelia asked.

"Yep." Buffy stacked the boxes by the front door.

"It looks so empty."

"Yeah," she agreed wistfully, looking around.

"So you're not taking those?"

"Mom's already got all the furniture she wanted. And Dad cleared his stuff out of the office the other day. The bigger things she's selling with the house. Ugh, this whole moving thing is such a drag. We're taking the U-haul tomorrow; Mom's got some guys to unload everything up there. Then we're coming back, loading up our cars with all the 'little stuff,'" she gestured to the row of boxes, "and clearing out."

"When do you have to be out by?"

"Oh, I don't know. All that paperwork takes a while. But we want to be settled and unpacked and everything by Christmas. You could come visit sometime," she added. "And I'm sure I'll be back in L.A. for the shopping alone."

Cordelia smiled. "It's a date. Anytime. And hey, if you ever wanna stay on a while, Daddy's got the summerhouse." Then she blanched. "I didn't mean to—"

"Nah, it's fine. We're not rich anymore, I can deal. But we're not poor," she quickly added. "Mom got a mortgage on the house in Sunnydale, but as soon as this place is closed on—I'm babbling, aren't I?"

"Just a bit. C'mon, one last shopping spree down the strip. My treat."

Buffy grinned. "You're on."

* * *

Later that evening, Wesley was detailing a report to send to Mr. Giles. He wasn't required to, but he felt it a courtesy to do so. Giles had always been decent to him, and there was no reason not to share what information on Buffy that he had. He was making notes on her fighting technique and playing through the recorded feed from their sessions. Fred had even taped some of Buffy's fights on patrol.

Fast-forwarding to get to the next training sequence, he realized that the camera had accidentally been left to run. He was about to stop it when a second figure in the shot caught his eye.

His eyes grew wide when he saw Spike suddenly drop Buffy and pin her, leaning in toward her neck. However, after a moment he stood up. Only to repeat the process a second later. He kept her down until she pushed him off herself, and then they began circling each other. After a few rounds, Spike pinned her again.

Then he left.

Wesley fast-forwarded again, but encountered nothing else.

Spike had had her down three times and done nothing. Wesley frowned. In some way that he'd have to be insane to even consider, it had almost, _almost_ looked like Spike was sparring with her. Wesley wished he'd had the microphone on.

He hadn't seen any sign of Spike since that night, the night that Spike had nearly choked him to death. When he'd prompted Buffy, she'd said that she hadn't seen him. He didn't seem to be following her, at least.

Nonetheless, it was a good thing that Buffy was removed from Spike and he from her.


	31. Adjustments

_A/N: For convenience's sake, the house that was for sale when Buffy and Joyce moved in the show is also for sale now. :)_

* * *

Buffy sat in the front seat of the U-haul that her mother had rented, looking out the window and watching the trees and buildings pass by.

"Doesn't this look nice?" Joyce said as they entered the city limits.

There was a painted sign that read: _Welcome to Sunnydale_.

_Welcome to the Hellmouth_ is more like it, Buffy thought.

"Honey?"

"Yeah. Um, it looks great."

And it did. American suburbia. Nice houses, shops, restaurants, a campus somewhere. It certainly didn't look like the demon refuge Wesley claimed it to be. Of course, it wouldn't, now would it? If people had any idea, they would have left long ago. Though Wesley _had_ said that the citizens of Sunnydale had an unspoken awareness that something was not quite right in their town. But it wasn't something that people talked about.

Buffy had only seen pictures of the house that Joyce had purchased. It didn't really bother her that this was the first time she'd be in it. The house she had grown up in had been sold, and the new place would really end up being her mother's house. There was no telling how long Buffy herself would live there. Not that she had any immediate plans, but she didn't intend to be one of those girls who lived with her mother until she was thirty.

It was a three-bedroom house in a nice neighborhood, with a painted exterior and a fair-sized back yard. Buffy picked the bedroom with a tree outside the window for herself, as there was no telling exactly when her Slayer duties would take her out and about. She didn't intend to do much sneaking around, but it never hurt to be prepared. There was also a basement. She wasn't quite sure why she felt like that was a good thing, but she did. Maybe she could train down there or something.

She hung back when the movers began unloading furniture, privately thinking that Slayer strength could get it done in half the time. Instead, she wandered around the house, mentally adjusting to rooms and wondering how everything would look. As the smaller items came out, Buffy and Joyce began moving them around and putting boxes into the appropriate rooms.

Almost eight hours later, they were back on the road to L.A. to return the U-haul and get the last things packed up in their cars.

While driving back to Sunnydale, Buffy's mind drifted to Spike.

She had only seen him once since the night that she'd made the deal. Her Slayer senses had told her that he was never far behind, a fact that she had lied to Wesley about. She hadn't felt good about it, but hadn't really seen a way around it.

It had been late one night after patrol that Spike had stepped out of an alley several blocks away from Wesley's office.

_"Want to go a round, pet?"_

They had fought, and loathe though Buffy was to admit it, Spike had handed her her ass. They had started out slow, but he had progressively gotten rougher as they continued, and every time he could have taken her, she could see him mentally calculating a score sheet.

Eventually, after he'd had his fun—because he was clearly having fun—she'd ended up pinned once again, her back against the pavement and Spike on top of her.

_"So pet," he said conversationally, still in game face, "How're you?"_

_"I've been better."_

_"You're getting better," he agreed. "Watcher teaching you something useful?"_

_"Routines. Techniques." She writhed under him._

_"Ah ah. We're not done yet." He leaned in. "How 'bout another payment?"_

_"Once we get to Sunnydale."_

_"I've been followin' you, and not been botherin' the Watcher."_

_"Like you wouldn't have been following me anyway."_

_"Point."_

_"You get more blood when you've actually done something. When you're _**_working_**_."_

_"Fine." He stood up. "You figure out a nice payment plan. I'll be lookin' you up first thing when I get to old Sunnyhell."_

Buffy snapped out of her thoughts as the Sunnydale sign once again came into view. Since the night that she had almost died thanks to anonymous vampire number one, Buffy had been more careful. She didn't take anything for granted.

(_"Never take anything for granted. They took for granted that you'd be easy,"_ Spike's voice from long ago echoed in her head.)

She had been taking things for granted, slightly, before. She was the Slayer. She had powers, strength, she was chosen to fight. So she should win, right? It was like a hero thing.

Apparently not, since every other Slayer had kicked it in barely a few years.

Which meant that she had to be smarter, tougher, better. She had been paying strict attention to Wesley's techniques, instead of relying solely on brute strength and reflexes. She'd spent nearly all her free time training with him or working out, with the goal in mind to improve as much as possible on her own before she started in with Spike in Sunnydale.

She no longer assumed that any vampire would be easy, even if they were crawling out of their graves. And the next vampire around the corner could be a week old, or as old as Spike, as tough as Spike.

Spike. He could kill her. She knew he could. The fact that he wasn't going to wasn't much of a comfort, Slaying wise. If he could, then there were other vampires that could. Old ones. Like the ones running the Hellmouth.

She had to be better, get better. She had to be able to beat them all.

* * *

They had gotten back to the new house late. Neither Buffy nor Joyce unpacked their cars, and Buffy had gone to sleep completely exhausted on a bare mattress, with only a blanket for linens. The next three days were spent unpacking boxes, and as Buffy came across her weapons that had been carefully wrapped in clothing and tucked into the bottom of her things, she realized that she should probably go meet her Watcher.

She had the address written down from Wesley. Mr. Giles owned a magic shop downtown and had been doing business there for some years, all the while keeping reports on the Hellmouth for the Council.

It was Monday morning, and her mother had gone to the gallery to get things set up and meet the staff. Buffy herself had to go by the college that morning, though she had been assured by Wesley that everything was in order, despite her late entry. All she had to do was get her schedule and booklist for the next semester. Most of the campus was shut down by now, but there would still be people around the admissions office for the intersession classes. She supposed she could go by the magic shop after she hit the university.

Until then, she had a little research to do.

Buffy booted up her mother's laptop and plugged it into the phone line. She typed 'donating blood' into the search engine.

After looking online for half an hour, she felt somewhat more informed, yet still at a loss.

The average adult human body had about ten pints of blood. One pint was taken in donation, and people could donate every eight weeks. There were detailed amounts and times for the replenishing of plasma, red blood cells, and iron. But the 'just plain blood' blood seemed to replenish in a few weeks, from what she could tell. Drink lots of fluids and you may experience momentary dizziness.

Buffy sighed. It wasn't like she was going to find LettingVampiresDrinkFromYou dot com, but still— Besides, with the whole Slayer healing thing, she was sure she would replace her lost blood much faster than that. However much Spike had taken before, she hadn't felt any adverse effects the next day. Would a vampire be able to tell how much a pint was? Of course, just because donations only took a pint didn't mean a person couldn't lose more and be okay, especially a Slayer-type person.

Spike at least knew when to stop, she supposed; he had the time before.

Buffy sighed again. She wondered exactly what part of her brain had decided it was a good idea to pay a vampire to watch her back. With her own blood, which by all accounts was like some sort of drug for the undead.

_The part of your brain that wants to live_, she answered. _And it's not like it's just any vampire. It's Spike. Spike I-was-on-the-way-to-being-in-love-with-you-Spike._

Still, that did nothing to squish the ick factor or the ouch factor. Biting _hurt_, Buffy decided.

Glancing at the clock, she went to get dressed. Time to face the music.

* * *

-

-

Spike packed up the duffel bag and hooked it to the back of his bike. There was little in the apartment he needed besides clothing and a few personal affects. He locked the door behind him and was gone.

Hitting a bar on the outskirts of the city, he downed a couple of drinks and then surveyed his surroundings in a single glance. There was a busty brunette woman down the bar who had been casting him looks since he entered. An inviting smile and a raised eyebrow, and she followed him out back.

She turned to face him, and he brushed his lips across hers before working his way down her neck. A practiced hand found her mouth to cover the scream as he tore into her throat.

Spike drank slow, making it last. It would be the last kill he would get for a while.

He was a vampire of his word, after all.


	32. Meetings

Things at the university had gone easily, as Wesley had assured her they would. The Council knew how to push papers, she would give them that.

Now Buffy stood at the entrance of the Magic Box, tentatively wondering what she should do. Just walk in and announce she was the Slayer? To her surprise, Buffy found that she was nervous. She hoped that Mr. Giles would be—well, not exactly like Wesley, but nice. Nice would be good.

After taking a breath and telling herself to get a grip, she opened the door and walked in like any other customer.

The shop itself wasn't quite the tiny, dark place she'd expected it to be. It was large and welcoming, and there were a few people milling about. A part of her mind wondered if they were 'real' witches or just dabblers.

Buffy had never given much thought to magic before, besides it being a bunch of new age hype. However, knowing what she did now, and thinking back to the thing Wesley had done to affirm that she was the Slayer, she was opened up to a whole new realm of possibilities. Looking at the herbs, crystals, statues, candles, and gross things in jars, she had no doubt that if you mixed them together properly and said some words, wonderful or horrible things would happen.

As she hovered near a case full of gems, a tallish man approached her.

"May I help you find something?"

Buffy looked him over. Suit, glasses, accent. "Are all you Watchers British?" she blurted.

"Watc—" His face lit up as comprehension dawned. "Ah, you must be Miss Summers."

Buffy smiled. "Yeah, here I am," she said. "So…?"

"Oh, pardon me, how rude. I'm Rupert Giles. The owner of this establishment, and as you already guessed, also in the employ of the Council."

"Right. Uh, can we talk about this here, or…?"

He gestured toward a round table near the back. "Please, have a seat."

Buffy slid into a chair, and he sat down in the next one, pulling it back slightly. "Miss Su—"

"Oh, just Buffy."

"Very well. You may call me Giles. People do."

"Okay, Giles, is it all right to talk out here? I mean, you know." She gestured vaguely.

"As long as it doesn't become too detailed. People on the Hellmouth have a way of ignoring things rather nicely. Oh, before I forget, I have something for you."

Giles stood up and went behind the counter for a moment. He came back with a small box.

"Sort of a welcome present," he explained, handing it to her. "It's not much."

Buffy opened it to find a necklace with a cross on it. She smiled. "What is it with Watchers and crosses?" At his confused look, she added, "Wesley gave me one, too."

"Oh." Giles sat down.

"Oh, but no! I didn't mean it like that. A Slayer can never have too many crosses. And see, this one has little twists on the ends, and that little stone in the middle. It will go with different outfits than the plain one will. It's totally perfect."

He smiled slightly.

"Gee, people are going to start thinking I'm super religious or something. Maybe I could get one of those Celtic crosses too." She looked toward a pegboard with jewelry on it. "Or would those not work?"

"No, any cross will be sufficient, regardless of what it's adorned with." He looked at her seriously. "I'm glad you're here, Buffy. And I promise, I will endeavor to be the best Watcher I can. Help you however I can, even back you up if need be. We've had to manage as best we could, without a Slayer—"

"We?"

Buffy looked up as the bell above the door chimed. The shopping couple had moved on, leaving them alone in the store except for a girl browsing in the far corner.

"Yes. Myself and several others have been patrolling the Hellmouth, since the…er, disappearance of the last Slayer."

"You mean her death?"

"No, I mean her disappearance. We had no idea she was dead until the Council contacted me. Faith disappeared some months ago."

"But you don't know what happened, do you?"

"No, no one does. I have an idea, but it's all only speculation."

"So, you and the…others?"

He brightened. "Would you like to meet Willow?"

"Um, okay."

Giles led her into a back room where a redhead was unpacking a box. "Willow."

"Hey, Giles. Who's that?"

"This is Buffy Summers. The new Slayer."

Willow's face lit up. "Ooh, really? That's so great! I mean, nice to meet you and all."

Buffy looked at Giles out of the corner of her eye. "Does everyone know?"

"No, only myself and a select few. Willow works for me part time here. She also dabbles in magic."

"Hey, I do more than dabble!" she protested. "I've been working on this really cool ball of sunlight thing, but so far it hasn't panned out. Oh, but maybe I could go on patrol with you sometime? I've been going with Giles. I mean, I know you're the Slayer and all and can take care of yourself, and Faith never wanted any help—"

"You knew Faith?"

"Well not so much knew, as knew of. I saw her in class a couple of times. Like literally two times. That was it. Later I learned she was the Slayer after hanging around here with Wesley and Giles. And after there were these vampires in the gym, Xander knew, and we just all sorta fell in together. Well, I mean fell in together with the Watchers. I've known Xander since kindergarten. But Giles is like our grownup friend. Though not in a creepy way," she added.

"Yes, thank you Willow," Giles said.

"So you do magic?" Buffy asked.

"Small stuff. I haven't been able to do anything big yet. Glamours. Protection spells. And I can float pencils. I staked a vamp once with a pencil from behind. He thought he all had me—then poof! Never saw it coming." She grinned.

"Buffy, I don't know what Wesley has told you about magic, but it's very dangerous and difficult," Giles put in. "It's not to be taken lightly."

"No taking lightly here," Willow said. "I'm just telling her." She looked at Buffy conspiratorially. "I screw up one time and he never lets me live it down."

"You and Amy blew up the chemistry lab."

"On accident! Anyway, I haven't seen her since high school. She got into the dark stuff, no thank you very much. That's how I met Giles, you know. I was in here all the time buying stuff for magic, and after the chemistry _accident_—" she emphasized, "—we got to talking. He's really helped me a lot. But speaking of talking, I'm sure you two have stuff to talk about."

"Yes, well," Giles started.

"Sure, why not?" Buffy said. "After all, I'm here to do the Slaying thing, right?" She started to follow Giles out to the front of the store, and then looked back at Willow. "See you around?"

She beamed. "Sure!"

"So," Buffy said, sitting down at the table again, "What's the deal on this Angelo guy?"

"Ange_lus_," he said. He pulled out a folder that was buried among the books on the table. "I've prepared a short history for you, a 'Cliffs Notes' as I believed Wesley called it, covering the lives of the vampires. Then perhaps we can discuss more recent events?"

Buffy nodded, taking the folder and opening it to find fifteen or twenty pages. Wesley must have said something about her not being a big reader. The fact that Giles had actually prepared something for her was unbelievably sweet. She found herself liking him already.

Buffy began to read.

There was Angelus. A completely sadistic bastard by all accounts, who loved torture more than the kill and had a fetish for convents. Numerous atrocities committed by him alone, sometimes with others of his group. Incredibly ruthless and dangerous, somewhere over two hundred years old, and sired by Darla. Darla was the Master's child herself—the Master being an ancient vampire that no one really knew much about, due to his keeping completely underground. Darla was his favorite, though she seldom went below after making Angelus. She reveled in destruction. She had a penchant for picking off the chaos of revolutions and religious wars, and at times had abandoned her lover to save her own skin.

Sometime this side of one hundred and fifty years, they had picked up a clairvoyant girl named Drusilla, driven her mad and turned her. The next to join the ranks was William, who appeared and made a name for himself in the early 1880s. It was unclear whether his sire was Angelus or Drusilla. The four traveled in a pack, rarely splitting up and in general leaving destruction and bloodshed wherever they went. In the Watchers' records, they were known during this period as the Scourge. They were often referred to as a single unit, though Angelus and the other male vampire sometimes made waves by themselves. William the Bloody wrought nightly carnage for a period of time, using a railroad spike as his calling card and earning him the nickname Spike.

Buffy's eyes widened as her mind suddenly processed everything at once.

Spike and three other vampires. She'd heard the story all before, just from a different perspective. _Her daddy. The other bitch._ Angelus. Darla.

"Buffy? Is something wrong?"

She turned to see Giles looking at her from behind the counter, slight concern on his face.

"Uh, no. It's just, a lot to take in."

He nodded and went back to work.

Buffy looked back down at the page. Clairvoyant. Drusilla.

_Dru. Spike's Dru._

Oh crap.


	33. Histories

_February, 1999:_

_"You are making sure to take out his vampires?"_

_"Course."_

_"Faith, for only working for me a month, you know I'm giving you a great deal of responsibility. I know you can do anything you set your mind to; you're a very bright girl. But I really wish you'd end this thing with the vampire. He's a bad influence. A girl like you should be having picnics in the sun."_

_"You know I'm not wearing that dress, picnics be damned."_

_"At least pull your hair back, let people see your pretty face."_

_"A Slayer lives in the dark, boss. You should appreciate that. But you worry too much. Have I ever let you down?"_

_"No. But every detail must go accordingly. I'm much too close to have wild cards bouncing around."_

_"Don't worry. I've got everything under control."_

-

-

* * *

"So, after this Angelus was cursed in—" Buffy glanced back at one of the papers, "—1898, he disappeared."

"Not quite," Giles said from his position from across the table. "He came and went from the group several times, not completely falling off the map until after 1900."

"So what exactly was this curse again?"

"Angelus was cursed with a soul."

"O-kay."

"The full aspect of the soul is something we don't understand. Even as humans, where we go afterward, what is the force within us— The point is, whatever you want to call it, it's a link to humanity, something that one loses when becoming a vampire. There is no guilt, no connection; there couldn't be in order for the vampire to survive. Whatever you want to call this conscience, this essence—a soul, if you will—it was returned to him."

"And the guilt drove him insane."

"From what we can tell," he said. "The few sightings of Angelus in the fifty or so years after that describe him in the filth of alleys, rambling, shaking, at other times almost catatonic. Darla most likely returned to the Master. William and Drusilla were spotted several times, but besides the nightly killings, their activities were nothing compared to the twenty year reign of the Scourge."

"But Angelus came back."

"Yes, somehow he lost his soul again. Contact with a tribe of gypsies in the early twentieth century revealed that he would be cursed to suffer with the weight of his soul for all the people he'd killed. However, it seemed that if his suffering ended, even for a moment, and he were ever truly happy, the soul would be lost. Nice and ironic, but rather a shoddy curse, in my opinion. At any rate, he was freed from his confines, though we don't quite know how. The whole group was seen reunited in the early seventies, but Angelus was remarkably absent from their exploits. However, it was quite clear that he was no longer cursed."

Buffy had realized from reading the file that the Council had no idea about the ritual that Spike had performed on Angelus to restore Drusilla. Spike had said that the other vampire was severely weakened and had never recovered. Though obviously he had, since he was currently terrorizing Sunnydale.

"William the Bloody killed a Slayer in New York in 1977, and the group split again shortly after. Angelus, Darla, and Drusilla remained together, and William slipped beyond the Council's notice."

"What, just like that?"

"There are simply too many vampires for the Council to keep track of, particularly if they start being quiet. And Angelus and his group were always the first priority. It's interesting that the group's two splits coincide with William's killing of Slayers, but in reality, it seems to be Angelus's curse that split the group in the beginning, and his subsequent return that both reunited it and split it the second time."

"Someone didn't like him coming back," Buffy said. It wasn't a guess. "So when did they show up in Sunnydale?"

"In 1997. I was here monitoring the Hellmouth for the Council. We had ascertained that the Master was trapped beneath it and was trying to get out. I had been here since the beginning of the year, and Angelus, Drusilla, and Darla made their presence known at the end of the summer. Shortly afterward, only Angelus and Drusilla remained. Darla has only recently returned, but nothing has been heard from the Master. The Council sent the Slayer here—sent Faith here—in 1998 to deal with the carnage Angelus and Drusilla were creating, but as you know, that didn't quite turn out as planned."

"Right. Already heard that part. Big on the violence, then got all pelvic with Angelus."

"Er, correct," he flustered. "And while there is no conclusive evidence, I have every reason to believe that he killed her."

"But…?" Buffy asked, hearing it in his voice.

Giles shifted. "After Wesley left, it came out that Faith had also— Well, first, it came to light that the Mayor of Sunnydale had made a pact with a demon in order to achieve Ascension. At the appointed time, he would turn into one of the original demons and—"

"Wait, let me guess. Faith also started working with him."

"Yes."

"So there's a possibility that he might have done her in."

"Possibly," he agreed. "Though something else must have happened, because the Ascension never came to pass, and the Mayor hasn't been seen."

"Uh-huh. You think Angelus had something to do with that?"

"Frankly, I have no idea. I can't imagine why he would."

"So, what else do I need to know?"

"That's all we have on the vampires." He paused, laying down his pen. "But there's also the matter of you."

"Well, yeah. I mean, Slayer here."

"No," Giles said. "I mean, your age. As far as I know, there's never been a Slayer called as late as you have been. We need to look into it, figure out what it means."

"And how do we do that?"

"Look at the histories, prophecies—see if there's any mention of a Slayer that is to come, or what a later calling could mean."

"Prophecies? Like actual 'thou shalt come to thou thee' prophecies?"

"I'm quite certain that made no sense, but to answer the gist of it, yes. If something is prophesized, it will come to pass in one way or another. No matter what one thinks they're doing to avert a prophecy, it will happen, though often not in the way that one might expect. But don't worry about it, let me do some research first."

Buffy shrugged, leaning back in her chair. "You're the book guy."

Just then, Willow came out of the back. She walked over and whispered something to Giles.

"Go right ahead," he said. "I suppose it doesn't matter when."

"So what's up?" Buffy asked.

"I wanted to tell you," Willow said, "about my boyfriend."

Buffy frowned. "Um, okay. Right now?"

"Oh, it's not girl talk." Willow quickly sat down, pushing her hair behind her ear. It was at that medium length where it just wouldn't stay behind her shoulders. "It's Slayer talk."

"Confused here."

"We just thought you should know. Oz is a werewolf."

"Come again?" she asked, sitting straight up.

"He's a werewolf. But he's not dangerous," Willow added. "We keep him up locked up every full moon, and we never let him hurt anyone. And Giles or Xander or I always stand guard with a tranquilizer gun just in case. Oz is really sweet—just not three nights a month. So, you know, there's no reason you should have to slay him." She looked at Buffy expectantly.

Buffy looked at Giles.

"We take every precaution," he said.

She shrugged. "Okay, then."

Willow looked at her. "Just like that? No questions, no nothing?"

"Well, it sounds like you've got in under control. And if Giles thinks it's okay, I mean, he's the Watcher, right?"

"Yeah, but, shouldn't you at least ask me if I know what I'm doing? Be concerned I'm dating a part-demon and all that? Giles did, at first. I mean, you just took it really well."

Buffy shrugged again. _Can't go by me, I'm with a vampire. Well not technically with, since I'm only letting him drink my blood right now, but we did have sex that one time. Er, that one night._

"Non-judgmental Buffy here. I'm a Slayer for the twenty-first century. Well, almost. In a week or so, twenty-first century Slayer." She smiled at Giles. "Hey, how cool is that? I'm going to be the first Slayer in the new century."

"Yes, I suppose you are. You're quite correct."

The door to the shop suddenly swung open. "Hey, hey!"

"Xander! Look Buffy, it's Xander." Willow jumped up. "Look, it's the new Slayer! I mean, meet Buffy!"

He grinned and stuck his hand out. "I'm Xander. Though you already knew that, thank you Willow."

She shook his hand. "Well, I'm Buffy."

"Cool, cool. So what are we talking about?"

He received three answers at once.

"Slaying." "Oz." "History."

"I see. It seems we've covered a range of topics. So, who's for pizza? For I am payday man."

* * *

When Buffy got home, it was mid-afternoon. She liked Willow and Xander, and was getting on well with Giles. They hadn't talked specifically about Slaying since Xander had gotten there, but had instead told her stories about their patrols.

All in all, she'd had a good time. Except for the part at the beginning, when everyone had been referring to her as the 'new' Slayer. She was of course, but there was a connotation to that word that Buffy didn't like. The new Slayer replaced the old, dead Slayer, and by logical reasoning, would in turn be replaced soon enough.

They hadn't meant it that way, of course, but it bothered her.

Suddenly there was a loud pounding at her back door. She looked through the window to see Spike on the other side.

Buffy opened the door.

He was frowning, his jaw clenched. "You never said," he growled. "You never said it was _them_."


	34. Agreements

"You never said it was _them_."

Buffy wished she could have claimed ignorance about his statement, ask what he was talking about, but she knew exactly what he meant. "I didn't know."

He stared at her. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Are you gonna invite me in or not?"

Despite the situation, Buffy suddenly grinned. "Hmm, I dunno."

"I guess you _want_ the neighbors to hear all about vam—"

"Come in."

Spike entered and shut the kitchen door behind him, his duster swinging as he spun around. "You never said," he repeated, "that these vicious vamps on the Hellmouth were Angelus and _Drusilla_, and unless I heard wrong, Darla."

Oh, he was really angry. Surely he didn't think— "I didn't know," Buffy said. "Really. I wouldn't— Wait, how do you know?"

"It's what they're talkin' about at the demon bar, first thing you hear." Spike made an exaggerated motion with his hand. "How could you not know?"

"Wesley just kept saying 'the Aurelians.'" She shrugged. "He did say Angelus, but he never said you were related to them. I am so going to kick his ass if I see him again. I thought about calling, but then he'd just want to know why I wanted to know."

He relaxed. Somewhat. "You couldn't have figured it out before this?"

"Well, how was I supposed to know?" she demanded. "You kept calling Angelus 'that wanker' and Darla 'that bitch.' All I knew was Dru. When Giles handed me this file on the vampires, that's when it clicked, when it talked about an insane clairvoyant named Drusilla. Well, actually it was more when it introduced William 'Spike' the Bloody." She shot him a look.

Spike was somewhat rankled that she had read about him in so impersonal a manner. All catalogued by the Watchers, nice and tidy and bloody. "So?" he said. "You know I'm not some do-gooder."

"I know," she said, leaning against the counter. "And yeah, it bothered me, reading about it. I mean, a vampire having to eat is one thing—and I cannot _believe_ I just said that—but torture?"

"Angelus."

"What?"

"Torture was always Angelus's gig. I wanted to join the crew, y'know? Impress Dru, prove my place. So yeah, I spiked some people. Not even sayin' I didn't enjoy it, but—"

"You don't still do it, do you?" Buffy asked in a small voice. "It was all a long, long time ago, right? Because, honestly, I don't think I can handle it. It's like a line, a line I can't cross with you. You know what I mean," she clarified. "If you're still him, I don't—I don't know who you are, Spike. I can't."

She was dead serious, he realized.

"No, pet, I don't anymore. Haven't, not for a long time." Spike paused. He wouldn't tell her, but he wouldn't lie to her, not when she looked so desperate to consolidate something about him in her head. "Except—"

-----_Smith's face as Spike shoved a letter opener through his hand, stabbing it into the wood of the desk below._

"What would you have done to her? Sell her off to the highest bidder? Keep her and charge for it?"

Beaten, defeated, and knowing he would die that night— "Well, I would have had a good time first."

A two hundred dollar fountain pen joined the letter opener, mixing blood and ink, and bringing the man to his knees.

"Wrong answer, mate."-----

"Except what?" Buffy asked.

"Except once."

"Once recently?"

"Kind of."

Spike could see her face falling—mentally separating herself from him as he spoke.

"He deserved it," he added.

Shit, that sounded lame.

Apparently he wasn't the only one who thought so. "No one deserves torture, Spike," Buffy said, putting a hand on her hip.

At least she was angry again. "You'd be off your high horse in a second if—" Spike broke off. She didn't need to know. She never needed to know _that_, what would have happened to her—

"If what?"

"Nothing."

She didn't look convinced.

Spike took a step forward. "Look, do you trust me?"

"I don't see what that has to do with—"

"Yes or no."

She sighed. "Yes, then."

"Then trust me when I say that he had it coming. He's done worse, and was gonna do worse to—someone I know. He was bad news, in a whole other way than I am. Alright?"

Buffy stared at him; his eyes were almost pleading with her to drop it.

She tried to tease out his meaning. Whatever vendetta he'd been avenging or thing he'd been preventing, it didn't sound like some stray victim off the street. She sighed again. "Fine," she said quietly. Then, "But railroad spikes? Ugh. That's just—ugh."

"That got boring pretty quick," he admitted. "There's only so many places you can stick a—"

Buffy cleared her throat. "Okay, this topic is officially closed."

There was a short silence.

"Did it occur to you that there might be a problem here?" he asked, looking down at her.

"Yes, it occurred to me! The first thing I thought was, 'Oh crap, Spike's going to back out.' Not that I'd blame you," she added. "I mean, they're your family, in some sort of weird, twisted, vampire way."

"Did you remember the part where I _hate_ them all?"

"Even Dru?" She arched a brow.

"So maybe not Dru." He fell silent again. "But I'm not gonna. Back out, I mean. Not gonna leave you alone with Angelus. He's worse than whatever else you might've been fightin' here. I just wasn't countin' on seein' any of them again. Ever." Spike paused, thoughtful. "I got no problem offing Angelus and the bitch. But I won't do Dru."

"Okay," Buffy said slowly. "But you know I'll probably have to fight her."

"Yeah."

"If I try to stake her, are you going to stop me?"

"Maybe."

She swallowed. "If I do stake her, are you going to turn on me?"

Spike stared at her. "No," he finally said.

"You don't—you don't still want her, do you? I mean…" _This is not where this conversation should be going._

"I'm not about to go and get with her, even if she'd have me, if that's what you mean, pet."

Buffy felt relieved, though some part of her was still unwilling to let the subject drop. "Do you still love her?"

"She's a part of me; she's my sire. I'll always love her. But I don't love her like that, not anymore."

"And you're not in love with me, either."

"Didn't we already have this conversation?" he growled, moving away.

"Fine. You're right. So, what else do I need do know?"

Spike sighed. "Angelus is big on the mind games and torture. He's not a coward, but he likes to fight in roundabout ways. Dru's insane, plain and simple, there's no predictin' about her. She'll listen to Angelus, most of the time. And Darla's just vicious. She's the oldest, but she lets Angelus take the lead."

Buffy considered. "So how should we play this? I mean, is there a way to play this?"

"Probably not," he said after a moment. "It's not like they have some grand plan. They're just here for the setup. Kill, maim, feed. And if I came to town otherwise, I wouldn't be seekin' them out anyway."

"So you don't have a problem standing right up and saying you're with me when it comes down to it, even against them."

"I s'pose not."

She grinned. "You could just slip in and kill them, you know. Save me the trouble."

"Hey now, this is your fight. I could care less."

"But you're working for me. What if I want you to kill them?"

"Then you'll be a piss poor Slayer who can't do anything on her own."

"Yeah, I know. Don't worry, I'm kidding. I'll fight." She paused. "So, are we good?"

"Yeah, luv, I guess we're good." He leaned against the cabinets. "So what else, then?"

"Well, we've got the three vampires, but you knew that. The Master was here; no one's quite sure where he's at now. And the last Slayer, Faith, went bad, got involved with demons, started screwing Angelus, and was probably killed by him.

"The Council pretty much knows the history of your group, when you split up and stuff. They know you killed the Slayers, but you fell off their radar after you left. They know about Angelus's curse, but not the blood ritual. Apparently he's much better now, by the way."

Spike was silent. He took his lighter out and started fidgeting, flipping it open and shut without thinking.

"Did you just get here?" she asked. "Why are you here, anyway? It's not January yet."

"Got nowhere else to be."

"Aw, did you get bored without a Slayer to follow around?"

"Shut up," he said flatly, hopping up on the counter. He pulled out a cigarette and twisted it around. Another second and it was in his mouth.

Buffy crossed the room in two strides. "What did I tell you about smoking in the house?" she snapped, snatching the cigarette from his lips even as he was trying to light it. She glared at him. "What? God, what's with you now?"

Spike stared at her.

Buffy smiled suddenly.

"What?" He looked alarmed.

"That is so cute. You're like all worried."

He jumped down. "You _should_ worry about Angelus—"

"Yeah, because he's an old and evil vampire. He's dangerous and he's going to try and kill me. I got that part. But that's not why _you're_ worried. It's like, oh—hold on, it'll come to me any minute now…" After a few seconds, her face lit up. "Yes! You're acting just like a freshman who got stuffed in a locker by the quarterback."

"I am not."

"You so are! I know he stole your girlfriend and all and was a complete bastard to you back in the day, but God, aren't you just as big and bad as he is now? And what, you've got that gem thing, it's not like he can do anything to you. You ran off on your own and haven't seen him in twenty years. Why should you be worried, or even care what he thinks? We are going to kill him, you know," she added with finality.

Spike slowly grinned.

"You, pet, are absolutely right."

"Of course I am."

Buffy paused, and then introduced the subject she knew Spike was itching to discuss. "So, about the blood."


	35. Tastes

"So, about the blood."

"Yeah, luv?" He paused expectantly.

"I thought maybe once a week and see how it goes? I need time to replenish or whatever, but it shouldn't take as long as normal people. And I was thinking Saturday nights, after patrol. It took a whole day last time for the mark to fade. I can avoid people on Sunday day easily enough until patrol at night. So what do you think?" she finished nervously at Spike, who had so far not changed his expression.

"Sounds fine. Since we missed our last Saturday, what say we catch up now?"

Buffy sighed. "Fine. I guess I can avoid Mom tonight. I don't have anything to do tomorrow, I suppose."

"Where is Joyce?"

"Setting up at the gallery, going over things, whatever you do when you take up a new management position. So, where do you want to do this?"

"How 'bout the couch?"

"Okay."

Spike followed her into the living room, sat down, and patted his knees. Buffy sat sideways on the right side of his lap, and he reached out to brush her hair behind her ear. She must have flinched, because he said, "Buffy. Relax."

"Yeah, easy for you to say. You're not about to bite you."

Spike ran his fingers through her hair. "It won't really hurt."

"What, you're going to sink your teeth into me and it's not going to hurt? Yeah, last time was a shining example of that."

"I might've gotten carried away a bit. It's been a while since I had Slayer—and that lick in the alley doesn't count."

"Since you _had_ Slayer?" she asked incredulously. _Hello, Buffy buffet._

"_And_ you didn't seem to be takin' the situation seriously."

"You mean you bit me hard _on purpose_?" she demanded.

"Maybe. A little. But I won't, now."

He pulled her closer and leaned in. "Trust me," he whispered against her skin.

She had little choice but to do so, and she knew that she did or she wouldn't be letting him do this at all.

Spike pulled her to him, angling her and readjusting her position slightly. He turned his head and began nuzzling and sucking at the right side of her neck. She tensed again, but made herself relax, even as she felt his teeth shift against her throat.

They paused and then entered slowly, like razors piercing the skin. It stung, hurt some—but it felt like someone biting her, not like someone trying to rip her throat out. Not that he had tried to rip her throat out last time, but he had definitely been more forceful.

So concentrated was she on the feel of the teeth, Buffy didn't notice the pull until after a few moments. As if realizing it for the first time, it dawned on her that he wasn't only biting her, he was sucking. Her blood was being slowly drawn; she could feel it draining from her veins and flowing out, her heart pumping to compensate the loss.

Spike's left arm was wrapped around her, securing her tightly to him. His right supported them as he slowly leaned, suspending Buffy as he bent down. A moment later and she felt the cushion of the couch beneath her back. Spike was twisted over her, his mouth still attached to her neck.

After a moment more, he released his bite, but changed nothing else about his position. Buffy felt his human lips on her skin again, catching the last that spilled out. Spike ran his tongue over the spot several times, before he dropped his head onto the cushion as well. She felt his breath against her neck, and suddenly their position reminded her of nothing so much as the time after they had been together.

His left arm was still trapped beneath her, but his right, no longer supporting them, moved up her arm, her neck, and finally his hand came to rest on her face. It was warm, she realized. Her blood, hot inside him. He had been in her, had pulled her out of her, and now she was in him. The connection was surreal and slightly chilling, suddenly seeming more intimate than anything else they had done.

Spike slowly sat up. Buffy started to do likewise, but a hand against her collarbone and a shake of his head decided her against it. He half leaned against the couch, right arm draping over the back, while his other hand lingered by her face, absently fingering flyaway wisps of hair.

"You took more than last time," she finally said.

"Yeah. But it didn't hurt?"

"Not _really_."

"Right, then."

Buffy sighed, closing her eyes. "If I had any sense— I mean, I really should worry about you draining me or something."

"Yeah, well," she heard him say in a bored tone.

"I know I'm going to die someday. What with the Slaying and all."

"And here I thought the point of this was to avoid that. What are you gettin' at?"

"I don't know. I guess if you do lose control or something, don't beat yourself up about it, it's no big deal. I'm going to die anyway, but I wouldn't mind so much if it was you."

Spike jerked suddenly, grabbing her chin roughly and causing her to open her eyes. "Don't you _ever_ say that again," he ordered. "Ever."

His grip on her was bordering on painful, his eyes dark with anger.

"Okay," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Spike released his hold on her and leaned back, straightening up.

"Do you want me to? Is that what this is really about?"

"No! I swear, I didn't think of it till just now. It's the blood going to my head, or the lack thereof. I wasn't thinking."

"And I'm not gonna lose control. Or I would've drained you the first time."

"I didn't mean it."

"It's alright, luv." His eyes narrowed slightly at her, like he had just thought of something. But he didn't speak.

"Do you have anywhere to be right now?" she asked after a moment.

"No."

"Can we just sit like this for a minute?"

His hand went back to playing with her hair. "Sure, pet."


	36. Insights

Spike looked satisfied, Buffy thought. Though it seemed more than having just had some really tasty blood. He looked almost…content.

He shifted her suddenly and pulled her legs the rest of the way up on the couch so that she was lying down completely. Then his hand returned to her hair.

Buffy relaxed and closed her eyes. It was silent for several minutes, and she almost drifted off, until Spike suddenly stopped his ministrations. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her intently, his head tilted to one side.

"What?" she asked.

After a few seconds of silence, he said:

"You got a death wish?"

"What?" She stared back at him, now fully alert.

"It happens. To Slayers."

"What do you mean?"

"Slayers, they get death wishes. The fight, the pressure, the aloneness, it gets to them. They don't want to do it anymore. They're around death so much, it becomes a part of them."

"And you know this…?"

"I know how they fight, how they think."

"You know how to kill them," she said.

"They wanted death. I gave it to 'em."

"Way to make yourself sound like Dr. Kevorkian."

Spike frowned at her. "I'm not sayin' I wouldn't have killed them anyway. I'm just sayin' they wanted it." He paused. "Do you?"

"No."

"Good, cause you're a bit young, Slayer-wise, to be crackin' already."

"I said I didn't mean it." She started to sit up, but a firm hand to her shoulder held her down.

"What did you mean?"

"I don't want to die. But if I had to—and I will have to—it just didn't seem like such a bad way to go."

Spike shook his head, exasperated. "Bloody hell, I can't win. You complain cause it hurts, and when I try and be nice, you start sayin' you wouldn't mind kickin' it."

"It was purely 'just saying,'" Buffy argued. "You know, like when you're drunk and start fighting about whether you'd rather be stabbed, drowned, or hit by a car. Besides, if, you know—if I was okay with it…well, not okay, but not un-okay—then if you, you know, then you shouldn't feel too bad."

"I _won't_ take too much."

"Someone's going to kill me, sometime, but it wouldn't be so bad if it was you."

"Well, it's not gonna be," he snapped.

"I know. Got it." She paused, and then raised an eyebrow, directing a challenging stare up at him. "If there was a choice between me killing _you_ and someone else killing you, which would you take?"

He didn't have an answer for that.

_See?_ her look said. Then her face fell again.

"What the hell's got into you?"

"It's like you said, I guess. The pressure." Buffy paused for a long moment. "It just all came crashing down today. I'm here. I'm supposed to be in charge. You should have seen the way they were already asking me about what we were going to do. Even Giles—my new Watcher—was sort of deferring to me. I'm supposed to take the lead, take down the vampires, and fight the fight. I know I'm the Slayer, and I know they've been here and that it's been rough, but there's just this whole 'save us!' vibe screaming away."

"Don't you like them?"

"No, I do. Willow and I clicked, which never happens. It's just—it's already starting. God, Giles even said as much. They'll be there to back me up, to help. But they're waiting for me, and me alone, to take down the big bad."

"I'd think you'd like havin' a Watcher who's not a slave driver. Not always the case."

"I like Giles."

There was another silence.

"You're not alone, right? You got me."

She didn't say anything.

Spike studied her for a moment. "C'mon pet, what else? It's not just these new mates of yours."

Buffy looked away, focusing on a cushion at the other end of the couch. "When I found out who the vampires were, I thought you wouldn't help me. I would have to face them alone, and I knew I wouldn't be able to. I'd fight them, and they'd kill me. And that would be it."

Spike remained silent, processing her words. Something between the lines occurred to him.

He ran his hand down her jaw line, tilting her face. "Buffy, even if I didn't fight with you, I wouldn't have fought against you," he said softly. "You know that, right?"

Buffy looked at him. She nodded. Barely.

"Bloody hell, you thought I would have."

"No!" she exclaimed. "Not really. I thought it for like a split second, but that's all, I swear."

"Again, did you remember the part where I hate them?"

"Yeah, well, I hate my dad, but I'm not going to stand by and watch someone else kill him, much less help them do it."

"That's different."

She stared at him.

"It's a vampire thing." He shrugged. Then, "Enough with all this. Bloody snap out of it. You're not gonna have to do it alone, alright?"

"Even—but after everything today, I realized I will. Even if I am the best, someday I'll still fight alone, die alone. Even if it's not this time."

He paused. "Someday is a long way away, pet."

"Even you won't be around forever. Our deal will end, and you'll go…wherever you go."

"I'm pretty hard to get rid of."

"Believe me, I know. But—"

He leaned down, putting a finger to her lips. "You're not gonna die. Whether you want me around or not."

It should have creeped her out, getting back into the stalking and obsession territory—_or something else_, her mind whispered—but it didn't.

"And what sort of Slayer just lets a vampire follow her around? If they knew—"

"Look, Slaying is killing. There's no high guide to it. It doesn't matter how you do it or how you live to get it done. Alright?"

"All right," she finally said.

"Right. Now, are we done?"

"I suppose." She didn't sound convinced.

"You're gonna win, and you're gonna live. It's what you're payin' me for."

"My own vampire bodyguard. Again."

He grinned. "Y'know, luv, you're askin' the wrong set of questions. You should be askin' what sort of awful vampire I am for followin' your every order, Slayer blood be damned."

Buffy smiled slightly. "I guess so. God, you suck at being a vampire." She put her hand to her neck. "Well, I suppose you just suck."

"That I do," he said, running his tongue over his teeth. Suddenly he stood, scooping her up into his arms and heading toward the kitchen. "Speakin' of which, it's time to get some food you."

"I'm not hungry," she complained as he set her down on the counter.

"You at least need to drink something."

"Fine. There's some apple juice in the fridge. Glasses over there." She pointed to a cabinet.

Spike poured the juice and handed it to her, leaning against the fridge and watching as she drank, as if he suspected she was going to try and pour it down the sink when he wasn't looking. Sort of cute, really, the vampire fussing over her.

After she was done, she set the glass down and started to hop off the counter. He was in front of her in an instant, hands settling on her waist to hold her in place. "Don't even think about it."

"Spike, I'm not made of glass."

"Right now your mum could probably take you."

"Puh-lease."

"You'll feel fine tomorrow."

"I feel fine _now_."

"Whatever you say, luv." He stepped back slightly, though still stood within easy reaching distance, presumably to stop her if she tried to get down. "Speakin' of your mum, I take it she doesn't know?"

"Absolutely not. I thought about telling her, but how do you open up that conversation? 'Guess what, Mom? I have a new career path. What? No, vampires are completely real, I swear.' Ugh, no thank you. Which brings me to another point. If we happen to run into her, nothing about Slayers or vampires or deals. If you see her alone, you're just passing through. If we see her together, we have a thing."

"Are we dating?" He grinned.

"No, we have a thing," she repeated. "And you're not sure how long you're going to be in town."

"Good enough. And the rest of our arrangement?"

"You'll follow me on patrol. If I'm alone, come along; if Giles or someone else is with me, stay behind and only jump in if you have to. Trail me around town anytime after dark, at least until I get a few more things down. For training, I'm actually thinking in the backyard in broad daylight. Mom will be gone until after work, and I'll get out of class early enough. No one will be around, and what sort of vampire would be out in the sun? Or maybe sometimes in the basement, though I'd have to get some mats or something, and then there's the whole finding something to tell Mom. So I'm thinking the backyard. It's private enough, and if anyone sees, as long as we keep the Slayer talk to a minimum, who's to say I don't just have a healthy interest in martial arts?"

"Well. You got it all planned out, I'll give you that. What about Angelus?"

"It'll happen when it happens. No plans for storming the fortress, wherever that is. Giles says they're holed up in some old mansion on the edge of town."

"Sounds about right."

Buffy took the moment to quickly hop down before he could stop her, ignoring the dizziness that hit her at the sudden movement. She stood still for a moment, and then took a step forward. "See? Fine. Let me show you the house."

She led him through the rooms, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu as she did so.

"And here's my room. The window's got a sort of ledge thing and the tree right next to it, which is why I chose it. Easy access for getting out at night."

Buffy stumbled as she turned suddenly.

She caught his look. "Fine. I'll rest. But you should go ahead and go. Mom will be home soon. Do you even have a place to stay tonight?"

"Not yet. I'll find something."

"Well, if you don't, there's the window and there's the floor."

"Be still my non-beating heart. Besides, creature of the night here."

"Well, if you need somewhere to sleep tomorrow, then." She sat down on the bed.

"Get some rest, pet."

And he was gone.

Buffy fell asleep shortly afterward, and only woke up when her mother came in from work. Wrapping her robe securely around herself, she went down to dinner. After an hour or two of TV, Buffy claimed moving fatigue and went to bed again.

When she woke up at 9:30 the next morning, it was automatic. She didn't feel drowsy or weak, or have the desire to go back to bed. Touching her neck, she felt that the skin was smooth and only slightly tender. It was already a bruise, and by afternoon it would be gone.

It wasn't until she got out of bed that she noticed Spike asleep on the floor.

Smiling and closing the door behind her, Buffy went downstairs.


	37. Ramblings

Spike woke up with the scent of Buffy surrounding him. Disoriented at first, he quickly remembered where he was.

By the light, it was mid-afternoon. He sat up and found a clock on Buffy's nightstand. 3:27. The house was silent, and he remembered that she was gone. Joyce was still at work, of course.

He'd come back to the house early that morning, watching from a distance as Joyce's car had headed downtown. Then he'd parked the bike in the driveway, climbed up to Buffy's window, and let himself in. Tempting as slipping into bed with her had been, it seemed a good way to get a hard shove in the ribs. She'd been rather explicit with her 'there's the floor.' The house was empty and he'd considered crashing on the couch, but there was something he liked about being near her. So he'd taken the floor.

However, after Buffy had gotten up that morning, Spike had crawled into her bed. When she'd come back in the room, she hadn't said anything about it. Sometime around lunch, she'd left.

He noticed a note next to the clock.

_I'm with Giles. Not sure if I'll be back. We might go patrolling later, probably leaving from the Magic Box. Mom gets home around 5:15. –Buffy_

The address of the Magic Box was scrawled below.

Spike stood and walked downstairs. Rummaging through the kitchen, he found an almost empty bag of barbeque chips and finished it off, wandering idly through the house as he did so. He ended up back in Buffy's room, lying on her bed with his hands folded behind his head.

Right. Pleasant as this was, he needed to find a place. Spike doubted that she would want to explain a permanent lodger to her mother.

After he'd left yesterday, he'd ridden around the town a bit more, gotten a feel for things. He hadn't stayed here an incredibly long amount of time before, but most things were where he remembered. Of course, there was the new suburban sprawl where there had previously been nothing. But even with all of that, there were no lack of abandoned houses and ramshackle buildings, Spike had noted.

But he'd done enough of that already in his day, and since he had the funds, he wanted something that, if not necessarily nice, wasn't a dump. Something like what he had before. A vamp had to have some standards, after all.

He had bet that being the Hellmouth, he'd be able to find someone willing to overlook his lack of paper identity in exchange for cash. However, also being the Hellmouth, he'd found that all sensible offices closed their doors at dusk.

As for the not so sensible apartment offices, ones on the so-called wrong side of the tracks, that obviously had vampires and other demons living in them, not to mention the human crack heads and drug dealers, he thought not. Besides the fact that he didn't play well with others, Spike didn't want to have his bike stolen. Not that he'd acquired it legally, but that wasn't the point.

Most importantly, he wanted someplace that Buffy wouldn't be disgusted to enter.

And Spike preferred to blend. Somewhat. He liked a place where the neighbors didn't know what he was, where he could go about his business unnoticed. Again, somewhat. It was one thing to be carelessly killing anyone who looked at you funny when you were fancy free, but you just didn't start piling up leftovers on your doorstep if you planned to stay in one place for any length of time. Only idiot vamps killed close to home.

He'd pushed the envelope in L.A. himself. Case in point, Buffy seeing him. Though of course, that wasn't going to be a problem here, as everyone was currently off the menu, per Buffy's 'terms.' Which he could do while he was here. Sure, it might get slightly annoying, but it was more than worth it for the blood alone.

The blood.

Buffy's blood. Slayer blood. Together in one package.

He'd tasted her four times, each better than the last.

The first had been a gift, a few drops from a girl who had no idea what she was doing, what she could have been getting into.

She had naivety. An innocent sort of radiance. Which was why he had felt a slap of devastation when she had become the Slayer. Everything that made her her would change, be hardened, be replaced. It hadn't, though, as he'd discovered. She still had that certain something, only now she had power to go along with it.

The second time he had taken and not asked, and had tasted Slayer blood for the first time in nearly a hundred years. It had been intoxicating.

It had still been _hers_, though.

The third time had been the first time he'd sunk his teeth into her. Pinned her against the wall and taken what he'd pleased. She _had_ offered. He'd felt a jolt of panic go through her that time. She'd made a small choking noise, and something in him had screamed that he had the Slayer, here, alone, completely at his mercy—her body overpowered and her blood already running down his throat.

But as Buffy's—_Buffy's_—hand had gripped at his arm at an awkward angle, some larger part of him knew that it wasn't an option, had never been a possibility.

If he killed her, he'd lose something. Maybe it was something he never had to begin with, but it would be gone.

The fourth time it had been slow, and he'd savored the blood he pulled as she melted beneath him. Like liquid fire, it had burned him from the inside out in the most delicious way. Afterward, he'd felt completely satisfied in a way that he didn't know he could be.

Until she'd shocked him out of his reverie with her grim, offhand remark. The fact that she had suggested it angered him. The thought of it actually happening made him almost physically ill.

Perhaps she _had_ simply said it in the moment, not thinking. She'd decided that he wouldn't help her, and had apparently been thinking about it all day. Which probably hadn't put her in the best of moods.

But in addition, for her to have actually thought, even for an instant, that he would have fought with them, against her—

Though he wasn't in any high position to judge, considering his initial reaction when he'd found out that it was them.

Spike had left L.A. early. He hadn't been bored, exactly, and not that he would have admitted it to her if he was, but honestly there had been nothing to do. Maybe once he got to Sunnydale, he could get some off-the-clock stalking in on the side, see how she was doing with things.

But the instant he'd ridden into town, he'd felt it. It wasn't so much that he could feel _them_, but there was something…off. Something nagging, something vaguely familiar. Maybe it had always been there, but he had never been so long removed from their presence before. Perhaps he hadn't noticed it until he'd become accustomed to the lack of it.

Quickly locating a demon bar (not hard on the Hellmouth), Spike had sauntered in, bought himself a couple of drinks, and casually asked about current events, so to speak.

And everything had suddenly fallen into place. Absolutely livid, he had gone straight to the address she had given him, sure that she had known all along. Known who she had enlisted him against when she had been offering up the one thing he couldn't refuse.

However, it had quickly become apparent that Buffy herself had just found out that afternoon. It seemed that Wesley had neglected to mention that little detail to her, though he'd undoubtedly known. Probably hadn't wanted to give her the wrong idea about them, or some rot like that.

And Buffy had actually convinced herself that he wouldn't help her, even thought for a moment that he would side with them.

Admittedly, there was the slight problem of Dru.

But after considering the rest of it, he was looking forward to seeing Angelus get his just desserts. He idly wondered if the Master was still lurking around. He'd never seen the old man himself, but God knows Darla had gone on and on about him enough. So had Angelus, when Darla couldn't hear him, anyway. Darla, Spike didn't care about either way. Sure, let the Slayer kill her. Now Dru—something in him tightened when he thought of Dru. No, he didn't want her anymore, but he wanted her _around_. Not around him, really, just around in the world. Maybe he could get her to leave town or something.

But taking Angelus down Spike would enjoy immensely. He'd put up with the crap in the beginning because he'd had no choice. Though besides the Dru bit, really, they'd had some good times. Angelus knew what he was about, knew what he wanted, and often had highly amusing ways of getting it. However, he was a right wanker whenever he decided to play the 'leader' card, and Dru—Dru always came when he called.

Though it hadn't been until years later, after Spike had done the ritual to restore Drusilla that he had truly come to loathe the older vampire. He had been brooding and whiny and uncooperative—not to mention dead weight—and he'd clearly wanted to leave them and their "bloodthirsty ways." Dru wouldn't let him go; not that he had much choice, weak as he was. Spike had actually somewhat pitied the cursed vampire, and thought that the best way to end his suffering (and theirs) was simply to stake him. But Dru wouldn't hear of it, and Spike had sensed that if he did it, he and Dru would come to blows, or worse, that she might truly go off the deep end.

It had been after Darla returned that Angelus had come back to his old self. How, exactly, Spike had never quite figured out, though he hadn't wasted much thought on it.

Angelus had been weak, pissed off about the years he'd spent cursed, and bitter about the treatment he'd received from Spike and Dru. Needless to say, he had not made a fun traveling companion. He had taken out his frustrations on Spike verbally, and by Dru, of course, who had been more than happy to oblige her daddy once again.

Spike had thought about the ways he could kill Angelus then, but the other vampire once again held the position of power in their little group. Much as Spike would have liked to give him a little what for, he had known that Dru would never stand for it. And Darla, Darla was strong. It wasn't worth taking them both on.

So he'd put up with the snarky bastard, until he'd finally said the hell with it and struck out on his own.

A few years later, after he'd gotten the gem, Spike had stolen a car and hopped on the interstate, with the express purpose of driving to New York and beating the lot of them to death. He'd take Dru back, and the two of them could go on a spree. She might hate him for a while, but he had forever to make it up to her, right?

Spike had gotten as far as Arizona before he came to the startling realization that he simply didn't care. He didn't care if he never saw any of them again. And well, they probably weren't even in New York anymore. Angelus could be halfway across the country or halfway across the world. And who cared about some crippled vampire who couldn't even feed himself? _If_ he ever saw Angelus again, he decided, he'd beat him to death. But otherwise, he had his own stuff to do. With that great plan in mind, Spike had made a U-turn in the desert and headed back to California.

However, as of now, putting Angelus in his place was going to be _fun_. And though he'd told Buffy that it was her job as the Slayer, there was no reason he couldn't get in a little beating before she finished the bastard.

He'd found their headquarters last night—an old mansion, like the new Watcher had said. Spike had driven by it once on the bike, but not wanting to spoil the surprise just yet, hadn't circled back. He hadn't caught a glimpse of his family, but somehow he'd known that this was their place. Angelus always did have a thing for living it up. So did Darla. Dru—well, you could tell Dru a mineshaft was an enchanted cave and she'd be perfectly happy.

There had been quite a few other vampires hanging about the property, which surprised Spike somewhat. Angelus had never been one for minions; he preferred to keep it simple and keep their numbers few. Of course, this was the Hellmouth, and minions probably came as a package deal. At the very least, the older vampires had attracted some hangers-on.

After dawn, he'd made his way back to Buffy's.

Speaking of which, he probably needed to leave now if he wanted to avoid Joyce.

Spike exited the house through Buffy's window, got on his bike, and headed in the direction of some of the apartments that had looked promising. An hour and several offices later, he found a manager who looked at him oddly, but finally put the paperwork back in the desk as he slid the cash in her direction.

Spike always dealt in cash; the people who paid him always dealt in cash—with a few exceptions that the Watcher handled nicely. He preferred cash anyway, besides the fact that he didn't have a bank account, birth certificate, or any of those other little things. He knew of places that would set things like that up, but he'd heard that they always wanted to _know_ too much. Having no strings anywhere was half the point.

The manager pushed a key ring in his direction. Flashing her a killer smile—but not his killing smile—Spike took the keys and walked out the door.

The apartment he'd rented had a kitchen/living room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. It was furnished, in that it had a couch, a table, a bed, and a dresser. There was a fridge and a stove/oven combo. It would do.

Dumping his bag and locking the door behind him, Spike went to find Buffy.


	38. Acclimations

Buffy entered the Magic Box to find it rather busy. Giles was behind the counter, and Willow was explaining to someone the differences between leaves that all looked the same to Buffy.

"Noontime rush?" she asked, after the customer went to the register with a bag of herbs.

"Yeah," Willow answered. "Oh, hold on—" she said, quickly heading across the store. "Hey! Those are _not_ for sniffing!"

Buffy looked around. There must be a lot of repeat customers, she thought, recognizing one of the people who had been in yesterday.

Shrugging, Buffy meandered toward the table at the back, disinterestedly skimming over the books on its top. Half of the titles made no sense to her; some were even written in other languages. Pushing a book aside, her eyes fell on a manila folder beneath it. _Summers, Buffy._

Flipping it open without thinking, Buffy found an assortment of information about herself. School transcripts, medical records, but most interestingly, her history as the Slayer. Obviously composed by Wesley, she decided, after skimming some of it. For some reason, she half expected it to be in some secret Watcher code.

However, she quickly guessed that the reason it wasn't was because there were no secrets. Indeed, the most interesting thing had been left out entirely.

There was no mention of Spike at all.

In accounting for her meeting with Wesley, he had simply said that he had done business with her father and had become aware of her. Buffy supposed that she saw the reasoning for this. Telling Giles that here was another Slayer who had been involved with a vampire probably would not have gotten her off on the right foot with him.

Still, Buffy frowned. Wesley was doing a lot of editing lately, and while she could see the advantages to this particular bit, she still wished that he had seen fit to tell her that Spike was one of 'the Aurelians.'

She skimmed over the rest of the file quickly, pausing briefly on the part about her fighting techniques, and then longer on the part about her dreams.

Suddenly feeling someone behind her, Buffy hastily closed the folder and turned around.

"Uh, sorry," she said to Giles.

"It's quite all right. It's information regarding you; you have every right to peruse it. In fact, if there's anything pertinent you'd like to add?" He was already reaching inside his jacket for a pen.

"No, it's fine," she quickly said. "I mean, it's all good. Well, except the part about the creepy Faith dreams, that was kind of bad."

"Have you had any more dreams?"

"No."

"Is there anything else you remember about them?"

"Not really. They're kind of hazy now."

"You could perhaps keep a notebook beside your bed so you can record any future Slayer dreams."

Buffy gave a non-committal shrug.

"Er, right," he said, absently polishing his glasses.

"So what did you have planned for today?"

"I thought we might review some techniques? Let me see where you stand, so to speak."

"You sure it's not too busy out here?"

He glanced around the store. "It seems to be winding down, for the moment."

"Okay, then."

Giles led her to a back room, muttering apologetically as he did so. "It still needs a bit of work. I'll have these overstock boxes removed as soon as possible. And we'll get everything in working order." He gestured to the wall, where there was a punching bag and a dummy, mats propped haphazardly over them.

Taking off his jacket, Giles pulled several mats away and arranged them on the floor.

Buffy glanced at the weapons, the only things in the room that were in impeccable order.

"So, what to start with?" she asked brightly.

"Er, are you quite all right in those clothes?"

She looked down at her sparkly red stretch top. "Oh, this? I've gone patrolling lots of times in stuff like this. It's no big."

"As you wish." He handed her a staff. "I thought we'd start with something simple."

Buffy raised an eyebrow as she took the staff and fell into stance. "Okay, but last time I used one of these I totally thrashed Wesley."

"So I read."

Giles made a move that she easily avoided.

"He made me really mad," she said, spinning around.

"How so? He didn't mention that part."

He knocked her staff, but she countered, blocking each one of his blows perfectly.

"He does that a lot, it seems," she said.

They exchanged a few more hits, and Buffy realized the slight difference to the way Giles handled the staff. He'd been trained, obviously, but whereas Wesley had fought from the technique alone—like someone who had memorized a set of complicated dance steps—Giles moved with experience.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"He has a tendency to leave things out." She lunged and he dodged. "Like the fact that Slayers barely live a few years. I didn't even question it until I nearly kicked it one night."

Giles made a move with his staff, but she blocked it, catching his on the return and nearly disarming him. He regarded her stance. She was quite good, really.

"I got so angry at him for not telling me," she continued.

"Ah." He felt a sudden sympathy for the girl.

"I felt I just couldn't deal, you know? That I didn't want any part of it."

Their staffs met in a cross, and there was a brief struggle before she gained leverage and pushed him back.

"And what happened after that?" he asked.

"I dealt with it," she said with finality, knocking his staff away and sweeping his legs out from underneath him.

Giles decided not to question her further about it. Obviously she had made her peace with it, but it couldn't be a pleasant topic to discuss.

Buffy watched his expression shift subtly, and she guessed his train of thought. Doubtful that he was anywhere near exactly how she had 'dealt with it.'

"So, am I any good?" she asked.

Giles nodded from the floor.

He stood. "You are quite skilled with the quarterstaff. Tell me, what else can you do?"

"I can do cartwheels again," Buffy said, beaming. "I know, not so useful with the Slaying, but it's definite coordination and muscle improvement. And I can do the splits, which means I can do—this!" She quickly brought her foot up in a kick that paused inches from his face.

Giles leaned back slightly. "Ah, yes. Quite impressive."

"And I can do that flipping up to your feet thing that you always see in the martial arts movies. I'm still working on back flips, though. And that running up a wall thing is out of my league—oh, but I can jump really high! And the staking, of course I'm down with the staking. Back, front, diagonal—it's all good."

"Do you make your own stakes?"

"This isn't shop class."

"Yes, well, in the past, Slayers were encouraged to whittle their own stakes."

"Wesley just gave me a whole bunch." Buffy looked at him and smiled. "And my new Watcher owns a magic shop. I bet you buy stakes in bulk."

"I do," he admitted, taking off his glasses. "Though it's still a useful skill. Xander was getting rather adept at it before I found a reasonable supplier. But there is something to be said for self-sufficiency. What if you were trapped in the forest with a vampire and no weapons?"

"Not seeing a lot of forests here."

"That's not the point."

Buffy shrugged. "Just grab a branch, then. It only has to be pointy _enough_."

"So what other weapons?"

"I'm decent with a crossbow. I haven't done much with swords, though."

He brightened. "Let's work on that, then."

* * *

-

-

"Well?"

Angelus made no movement.

Darla turned to look at him from the archway. "Not this again."

"It's just so predictable. Kill a virgin, fuck a virgin, kill a virgin…"

She crossed her arms. "You've been doing this ever since you finally wasted that Slayer."

His eyes darted somewhat wistfully to the chains on the wall. "She was…_fun_. Even after all that torture, you never knew what she was going to do next, you know?"

"I can't believe you're brooding and getting all nostalgic. I think I should be jealous."

"It wasn't the sex," he scoffed. "Well, at first it was the sex, but you weren't here, so—"

Darla cleared her throat.

"It was the _artistry_, the mastery of breaking someone. But she was so strong, now I'm thinking I didn't do it quite enough. It could have been magnificent. Complete. A _Slayer_… If I had it to do over again…"

"You _killed_ a Slayer!" she said, walking into the room. "You should be high on it, not moping that you could have done it better. It's been a month, and this weekly depression routine of yours is getting annoying. If you're going to be this dull, I think I'll leave."

"But you only just returned," Drusilla said, speaking up from her perch on the windowsill.

"She came back months ago, Dru."

"I'm still lagging. Please don't be cross. There's another Slayer," she added helpfully.

"What?" Angelus was suddenly staring at her and fully alert.

"Oh, yes." She nodded.

"Why didn't you say so?"

"They only just told me, the stars." She gestured to the daytime horizon. "So hard to see. Oh…"

Drusilla clutched at her head.

"Well?" he asked.

"She's bringing the sunshine," she whined. "It burns him, he's lost, so so lost."

"Who?"

"Lost, lost, lost to us," she continued to chant, rocking back and forth on the sill. "He's covered in it."

Angelus looked expectantly at Darla.

"Well, I don't know," she grumbled.

As much as Angelus liked to see an 'incoming,' as he called it, most times he had little luck deciphering Drusilla's visions unless they were unusually straightforward. Half the time, Dru herself didn't seem to know what she was talking about.

"Another Slayer. Well, I feel better," he announced, straightening up and giving Dru a pat before moving away. "I think I'll be in the mood for virgin later." He walked past Darla and disappeared down the hall.

Drusilla stared after the empty air, paused, and then glanced at Darla. "He'll throw you to the sunshine."

Then she primly stood and went to sit in the closet, where she kept the dog that she had 'adopted' and forbidden anyone to eat.

Darla looked at her a moment more, before she also walked out of the room.


	39. Flashes

_A/N: Because I've always wondered whether the ritual from What's My Line, if completed properly, would really have killed Angel, or just made him weak like Dru or worse. Also, I'm going to assume that there were other books with the ritual/key code in them that are floating around out there in the demon world.

* * *

_

_1969, New York_

"What the bloody hell are you doin' here?"

Darla ignored Spike. "Where is he?" she asked Dru.

"He's ill, terribly terribly ill," she said. "All his blood to heal my burns. Inside and out, all twisted—"

"_Where_, Dru?"

She pointed to a door.

Darla opened it, and he looked up when she entered, almost panicky. He was thin, skeletal even. He looked like he wanted to back away from her, but his body simply wouldn't do it.

She had heard snippets of what had happened, descriptions of the two vampires that toted around an insane and now shell-like Angelus. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore and had come to see for herself. She'd almost _felt_ it as she neared.

Seeing it, she was shocked. For such a member of the Aurelian line to have fallen so far. She couldn't tell what was a result of the curse, what was the not feeding, and what was whatever they had done between him and Drusilla.

"Angelus," she said sweetly. "I've come to make it better."

"No," he said. "No, no, no."

"Look," she said, pulling back her collar. "Look how flushed I am." Darla moved closer. "For you. All for you."

"It's dirty. We're all so dirty—"

"Dammit, Angelus!"

"I don't want it, any of it."

"I don't care! You _will_ drink from me!" Darla slashed her neck with her own nails and climbed on top of him. "I will not leave you to rot in your own filth like this, not with them!"

Knowing the thirst he must be fighting and how irresistible her own blood would be, she forced his mouth open and put her bleeding throat in it.

For a moment, he was motionless beneath her. Then he was involuntarily tasting, his tongue touching over the wounds and his throat constricting as he swallowed. Suddenly his face had shifted and he was hungrily, desperately pulling down her blood, his teeth buried in her flesh and his arms locked around her.

.

.

He felt the blood flowing down his throat. He didn't want to want it, but oh, want it he did. He wanted it more than anything he'd ever wanted before.

He hadn't exactly been in the best condition to begin with when Spike had grabbed him. Rats were not so much sustenance, after all. But after every single drop of blood from his body had been ritually poured into Dru, he couldn't move.

They'd taken him with them. He'd rather been left to die. After all, it's not like he had been doing much with himself.

Dru had brought him a girl the first night. He'd been sickened.

She'd pouted and looked confused when he wouldn't drink the girl. Spike, however, had shrugged, said, "your loss, mate," and killed the girl himself.

The next night, Dru had come back from hunting and tried to get him to drink from her. He wouldn't, couldn't. What was the difference that she had killed someone for the blood instead of him doing it?

She'd brought him a dog after that, and though he had felt sorry for it, he'd drained it, as well as the other animals she sometimes came back with. But the blood did nothing to restore him. So he lingered—weakened outside, perpetually suffering within…

Until now.

Drinking sire's blood was always a singular experience. Usually a nip here and there, during sex and such. But _this_, this constant flow, as much as he could drink, as if it would never end. He could almost feel the mass returning to his body. He wondered how many people she had killed in order to have this much in her. But suddenly he didn't care.

There was nothing but the two of them, her blood running down his throat, sweet and thick. All his thoughts were bent on it. After his self imposed starvation, and then his actual starvation, it was ambrosia. It occupied all of him, and he only wanted _it_. There was nothing but the blood, and it kept coming, drowning out any other thoughts in a sea of red. He simply didn't care about anything else. He could just _be_, be one with the blood and nothing else—

And suddenly, something in him snapped.

.

.

Darla felt her neck being torn as he jerked uncontrollably beneath her.

However, she only pulled away when she felt her limit coming, forcing him to let go of her. She would have to feed again immediately, she'd given him so much.

He was staring straight up, a vacant expression on his face.

"Angelus?" she asked. "Angelus?"

Slowly his eyes met hers, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Yes. Definitely."

* * *

_1982, Miami_

"Poor Daddy," Drusilla said, glancing sympathetically at Angelus's prone form on the sofa.

"Oh please," Darla said, entering the hotel room and throwing a girl across his lap. "He sits inside all night and day, while we bring him room service."

"But it must be terribly boring not to hunt. I thought it terribly boring not to hunt."

Angelus finished draining the girl and threw her to the floor. He pulled Dru onto him. "Oh, but there's all sorts of fun things we can do lying down." He gave Darla a look. "Join us?"

"Oh yes, grandmummy, please."

"Not tonight." Darla narrowed her eyes. "How much longer, Angelus? It's been years, and you can barely manage to walk."

"I was completely _fucking_ drained!" he yelled. "Have you ever been _completely_ drained? Not to mention whatever it pulled out of me and into Dru."

"I gave you sire's blood! I still give you sire's blood, besides what we bring you every night."

"Well, how about some sire's blood and some magic words?" he snapped.

"I am _not_ doing the ritual. Then it'll be me on that bed forever. Besides the fact that we don't even have a copy of it."

"I bet it can't be too hard to track down. I mean, if _Spike_ was able to find it—"

"Find something else. Conversation closed." She turned to leave once again.

"Hey, aren't you going to take this out?" he called, pointing to the dead girl.

The door slammed.

Drusilla straddled him, stroking his face. "Poor Daddy gave his blood for me, and now he's all weak."

"I didn't give you my blood," he spat. "William _took_ my blood."

"My William is gone. Punish me instead," she smiled, wriggling against him. "Or I could punish myself, and you could watch."

Angelus grinned.

"They were such pretty words, full of evil," she crooned to herself as she worked on his belt buckle. "Wonderfully wicked words."

"What?" he asked sharply, Drusilla's position completely forgotten for the moment.

"They called me back," she rambled, swaying. "Grand obscenity and black medicine, blood of the sire to rise again."

"Do you know what you're saying?"

"I know all my Spike's words. He used to love words, though most of them I didn't like, I confess. Strings that danced in my head. But those were such nice words…"

"Dru," he asked carefully, "do you _remember_ the ritual?"

* * *

"I _will_ kill you for this."

"Come on now, don't get like that. Dru and I will feed you and everything."

Darla struggled against Angelus and their mutual bonds.

"_You_!" she hissed at Dru. "How could you go along with him? Hitting me over the back of the head while I fucked him, tying me up, committing this betrayal, this—this travesty!"

"Don't be cross," Drusilla pleaded. "Angelus asked me, so many times he asked me. I couldn't let him suffer away. And he was beginning to be cross with me."

"Honey, you're _sure_ you remember the words?"

"Oh yes, it's like poetry." She held up a dagger. "And I get to cut, just at the pretty part."

.

.

Ten minutes later, Angelus stood after Dru sliced the ropes, and stooped over the skeletal Darla.

"I hate you," she breathed.

"It'll pass." He straightened up. "Dru, let her drink. It won't be sire's blood, but it'll do. Then get her something else to eat. I'm going out."

* * *

_Thirteen years later, Rome_

Angelus stood over the bed where Darla lay. "What would you say if I had some news?"

"What?" she asked flatly.

"I've got a plan."

"And what would that be?"

"I've tracked down the Master for you."

Darla was silent for a moment. Then, "If you tell me you were thinking of this all along, I won't believe you."

"Oh, I wasn't. I was only thinking of me when we did you. But it occurred to me later, and if we can get you better, there's no reason why we shouldn't."

She remained silent.

"Like there haven't been plenty of times you almost got me killed," he said, growing angry. "Taking the last horse, leaving the dead bellboy in _my_ room, bolting that door, just _having_ to see the French Revolution, should I go on?"

"He won't do it."

"You're his pet, of course he will." He grinned. "And if he won't, well then, we'll have to persuade him."

Darla stared at him.

"I bet California's nice," he added. "All those blondes."

* * *

_August 1997, The Hellmouth_

"That Luke guy, not too impressive." He smiled. "So, how've you been? Nice and stuck and all?"

"This is hardly the way to win favor."

"All that holding court crap never really did it for me, you know?" Angelus shrugged. "Dru, bring her in."

Drusilla came around the corner, carrying Darla in her arms. Something might have flickered across the Master's face, but then again, who could tell?

"Cause, see, I think you'll do what I want. And if you're inclined not to, well… You don't seem to really be able to _do_ much, except order minions around. And they're all gone." He played with his crossbow. "Not that you had that many to begin with. I guess they tend to ditch you when your grand plan gets you trapped in a hole. And now there's not even anyone to feed you. Ever."

At that moment, a small boy suddenly appeared. At first Angelus thought he was there as a snack, before he realized that the kid was also a vampire.

Darla tilted her head against Dru's shoulder. "Oh, Angelus, he's kind of cute."

"Yes," Drusilla crooned. "We could keep him as a pet. A little doggy."

"No, no more of the Master's spawn. Except for Darla here." Angelus spun around before another word could be spoken and drove a stake through the boy's heart. He looked back at the Master. "So, what's it going to be?"

.

.

Darla was strong. She was standing and smiling at him, radiant and evil and powerful once again. The Master was stumbling, falling down the wall as he tried to support himself.

Darla turned to the Master. "I am in your debt," she was saying, gushing on and on.

Angelus reached under his coat, pulling out a stake that was long and thick from behind his back.

Without a word, he turned and drove it into the Master's chest, watching in satisfaction as he disintegrated. He stomped on the bones as they hit the ground—huh, bones, he must have really been old—smashing the ribcage and skull in glee.

He turned from the fragments with a wide grin. Before he could speak, Darla slapped him full across the face, sending him spinning into the stone wall.

"You killed him," she hissed. "You _killed_ the Master!"

"I put him out of his misery. What did you think was going to happen after we did it? _His_ sire was dust centuries ago."

"He was old! He might have recovered!"

Angelus looked at her.

"You intended to kill him all along," she realized. "How could you? You killed the oldest of the Aurelian line!"

"Now you're the oldest!" Drusilla chimed.

"You're not about to turn all ugly, are you?" Angelus asked.

He suddenly found himself flung across the room as Darla advanced on him. "So help me, Angelus, if I don't finish you! I've got over a century on you, and right now I've got the Master's blood in me! You _killed_ him. How _could_ you?" She stood over him, eyes blazing.

"Oh, don't kill Daddy! Oh, please."

Darla fumed, her lips pressed into an almost invisible line. "I'm leaving," she said simply. "If follow me, I'll kill you."

After a moment, Angelus stood, watching Darla as she disappeared around the curve of the rock walls.

"Well, that went well." He shrugged. "She'll be back soon enough. C'mon Dru, let's find some place to set up shop. I think the Hellmouth is going to suit us."

"Can we go to a candy shop? There's always such nice little boys in candy shops."

And the pair went up to the world above.


	40. Gatherings

Late that afternoon, Buffy sat at the table in the Magic Box with Willow and Xander while Giles was dealing with the last customers of the day. Buffy was talking about her session, and mentioned the state of the training room.

"Well, I'm your dummy man," Xander said. "I mean I can fix the dummy for you. And hang the punching bag."

"Xander works construction," Willow said. "He's like our personal handyman."

"Willow made me her bitch last fall when she moved into the dorms."

"So you don't go?" Buffy asked.

"Nah, I skipped straight to the getting a job part." He looked at Willow. "So really, I'm like four years ahead of you. And you're supposed to be the smart one."

"Xander!"

"Just kidding, Will." He turned to Buffy. "She's going to be a rocket scientist or brain surgeon or something. Get one of those really high paying jobs where no one is _exactly_ sure what she does."

"Really not. It's only my second semester." She looked at Buffy. "Hey, maybe we'll have some classes together."

"I dunno, I registered kinda late."

"Well, I can still show you around. You'll be like a freshman, except for all the, y'know, awkwardness, embarrassment, and accidentally walking into the art class with the nude model."

Buffy grinned. "Sounds like there's a story there."

"And why haven't I heard it before?" Xander demanded.

"The _male_ nude model," Willow emphasized.

"And wow, I've heard enough," he said.

"So does Oz go?" Buffy asked Willow.

She nodded. "Yep. He would've been a year ahead, but he kinda skipped senior year. But he's not a loser or anything," she hastened to add. "He's like Mr. Test Scores! He just, didn't go."

Buffy nodded.

"Ooh, and we have to go Bronzing," Willow said.

"Bronz-_ing_?"

"The Bronze is a club. The club. As in, the only one. Oz plays there with his band sometimes. They're up for this Friday."

"What're they called?"

"Dingoes Ate My Baby," she said, beaming with girlfriend/groupie pride. "But everyone calls them The Dingoes."

"Cool." Buffy paused. "But won't that get in the way of patrolling? I don't wanna make Giles angry with me by blowing things off already. Not that I'm planning to blow things off," she quickly put in. "Just, you know, wrong foot and all."

"Oh, it's cool," Willow said. "The Bronze is totally a vampire hangout. You can just sorta make an extended stop."

"Okay, then. It's a date."

"So do you date?"

"What?" Buffy sputtered.

"Cause Oz knows a lot of great guys. I mean, if you're looking sometime."

"I'm, uh, not really looking right now. There was someone in L.A.—but it ended kind of suddenly. I'm not really sure where we stand since I left him. Left town, I mean."

Willow nodded.

Buffy, wanting to change the subject, turned to Xander. "What about you?"

He shook his head. "There hasn't been anyone for me since Willow here broke my heart."

"You two dated?!"

"Well, don't look so shocked."

"But you're obviously such good friends. Most people who split don't bounce back like that. Why did you break up?"

"He stole my Barbie," Willow said.

"Huh?"

"We were five," she clarified.

"Oh."

"Though there was this one time during sophomore year that we tried going out. But it was a total disaster, so we decided to play amnesia and never speak of it again. Oh, oopsie." She looked apologetically at Xander.

"I may still have that Barbie."

"Yeah, well I've got stories on you that—"

"So, whaddya think of Giles?" he asked Buffy with a grin, changing the subject.

"He's really nice. Sort of standoffish at first, but I guess that's a British thing, all reserved and stuff. Or, an upper class British thing," she amended, frowning. "Anyway, I like him. And I think he likes me. He fights pretty good. I mean, for someone so…"

"Old?" Xander supplied. "Not to worry, it's like our running joke." He lowered his voice. "Just don't say it to him. He doesn't like it."

"Giles is really good on patrol," Willow said. "He usually gets more vampires than either of us."

"What one lacks in strength, one must make up for with skill and strategy," Giles said, taking the empty chair next to Buffy.

"Hey, you know we're just kidding," Xander said.

"Quite."

It was only a few minutes until closing time, and only one customer remained in the store.

Frowning, Buffy leaned in to Giles. "Is she _always_ here?" she whispered.

"Er, sometimes. Quite a bit of the time, recently. Though she's yet to buy anything. Sometimes she picks up different items and walks around with them, but she's hardly the strangest customer I've encountered."

"Yeah, Giles gets some real fruit loops in here," Xander said. "There was this one guy who always had cheese. Like, always."

"Uh-huh."

"Buffy," Giles said, "I thought we might patrol tonight. Sort of a tour patrol."

"I'm up for whatever. Here to slay."

"We'll leave after dark then, yes?"

"Sure. So, on the off chance that we come up against Angelus and his crew tonight— I read the file, but is there anything else I need to know?"

"No, it was all there. Angelus will probably try to fight you if you encounter him, but he may not. He's gotten quite confident. Even if he does engage you, it will be a test; he'll most likely wish to draw it out for more than one round. The others may or may not assist him; however, if you see one, you must assume the possibility that they're all there. And if you confront Drusilla, keep in mind that she has a very strong thrall."

"Thrall, yeah, that was in there. What's a thrall? I was gonna ask, but I forgot."

Giles, obviously pleased to tell her something she hadn't heard before, sat up straighter. "A thrall makes you subject to the vampire's will. It places you in a haze-like state and in their complete control."

"Right. Thrall bad. So how do I not get thrall?"

"Don't look directly into her eyes."

Buffy nodded. "Got it. So, who's for crossbow practice? We could set up the dummy."

* * *

Patrol had gone easily enough. Giles and Willow and Xander had accompanied her, and at first Buffy had joked that they wouldn't be able to get the drop on any vampires. But the amount she had seen and dusted had actually surprised her. Either there were a lot more vampires here than in L.A. (statistically speaking), or they were used to going out unhindered. Probably both, she thought—Slayerless Hellmouth, after all.

They had taken her by the Bronze and done a quick sweep while Giles waited outside. He said he preferred to watch the alley rather than "suffer that din." From there were the back streets and then the cemeteries. _All_ the cemeteries. Honestly, Sunnydale was not that big a town—it was easily covered on foot—and Buffy couldn't imagine any reason to have that many cemeteries except to bury the recently undead.

After hitting the last one, they'd called it a night and had made plans to meet the next evening at the Magic Box.

All in all, not a bad day.

* * *

The alarm went off. Again.

Muttering to herself, Buffy hit the snooze button. Again.

"C'mon now, luv. Rise and shine."

Suddenly she was fully awake. She bolted upright in bed and glared at Spike, who was sitting on her windowsill.

"What are you doing?"

"Just checkin' in."

"You know, just because you have an invitation, doesn't mean you have an invitation."

"Come again?"

"There's this thing called knocking. Calling? I know you have a phone."

"What if your mum answered?"

"Cell phone, hello? Speaking of which, why don't I have your number?"

He grinned. "Oh, you've got my number, Slayer."

Buffy's semi-good mood immediately vanished. "I told you, stop with the Slayer. Don't call me that."

"It's what you are."

"But not who I am." She paused. "Please, don't tell me I'm nothing but the Slayer to you," she added softly.

Spike looked at her a moment. "Alright. Buffy."

Then he came the rest of the way into the room and picked up her phone from her nightstand. He punched something in and returned it to its place.

"You've got my number."

Buffy picked up the phone and hit the call button. When she heard Spike's phone ringing, she said, "And you've got mine."

"I always have."

"Huh?"

"Came with the job description, luv, the first one. The Watcher gave me a nice little introductory packet."

"With what?"

"The usual. Birthday, license plates, phone numbers. Schedule, physical description, blood type, allergies."

"Wait. Why would you need to know blood type or allergies?"

"Part of the job. If somethin' happened, I s'pose, and had to whisk you away to hospital. Not like I wouldn't have known the blood type, though," he said with a grin. "But the Watcher's not capable of _not_ fillin' out a box on his form."

Right. A job. That was why he was here now, too—because she'd hired him.

"So," she said, "what are you checking in about?"

"Everything seemed to go fine last night."

"Yeah. I felt you following me. Is that weird? I mean, that I knew it was you, and not just some other vampire? I can like pick you out."

He smirked. "I'm special."

"Do you have a stake?"

"Not on me."

Buffy leaned over to the other side of the bed and dug for a moment in the nightstand drawer. She pulled one out and handed it to him. "You said you didn't carry stakes once. Well, now you do."

"Is that right?"

She nodded. "Anyone watching my back needs a stake. What were you going to do if I got into trouble?"

"Dunno. Hadn't thought about it. Beat them down?"

"You. Stake. It's in the job description."

Spike slipped the stake into his pocket. "So, what else?"

She paused, thinking. "Does Dru have thrall?"

"Yeah, she does." He frowned. "You probably should avoid that."

"Ya think? So does every vampire have thrall?"

"Nah."

"Do you?"

Spike smirked again and sat down on her bed. "Look into my eyes."

"Are you serious?" she asked, scooting back slightly.

"What wrong, pet? Afraid I'm gonna do somethin' to you against your will?"

"_No_," she said firmly, meeting his gaze.

"Right, then." He looked at her.

Buffy held his intense stare, resisting the urge to glance away.

Several seconds passed.

Then he laughed and dropped his head.

Her mouth fell open and then quickly closed as she hit him on the shoulder. "Spike!"

"Wanted to see if you'd do it."

"Fun-ny. So a big no on the Spike thrall."

"Don't have the talent for it. Too poncy, anyway."

"So is Drusilla poncy?"

"Women aren't poncy," he scoffed.

"Oh, so it's like a gay thing?"

"_What_ are you talkin' about?"

"I have no idea," Buffy said, getting out of bed. "So maybe you do have thrall. I'll be right back. I have to change."

"You could change here. I've seen it before."

"And yet, I think I'll be right back."


	41. Preparations

_A/N: Thank you for all the reviews! I'm glad you're still enjoying the story!_

* * *

After Buffy changed clothes, she and Spike ended up in the kitchen.

"So, what else were you checking in about?" Buffy asked Spike as she ate a yogurt.

He slumped against the cabinets. "Thought you might want to start fightin' today."

"Sparring. You mean sparring. Training."

Spike shrugged. "Whatever."

"I don't have to go to the Magic Box until patrol. Though Willow might call this afternoon. She said she'd show me around town. And I told Mom I'd try to get a Christmas tree today or tomorrow."

"So is that a yes?"

"Yeah. Sure." Buffy stirred the yogurt. "I wonder when Angelus will show up."

"Luv, you've only been out one night."

"I'm just edgy."

"It'd be like him not to show his face, just so you do what you're doing. Throw you off balance, and size you up at the same time."

"I suppose. Here, just let me go change."

"Bloody hell, you just changed."

Buffy rolled her eyes. Vampire or not, Spike was such a guy. "These are _lounge_ clothes, not _training_ clothes. I won't be a sec."

She quickly went upstairs and put on a sports bra, a close fitting tee, and a pair of loose sweatpants. Running downstairs in search of her tennis shoes, she saw Spike draping his duster over one of the barstools.

"You ready?"

"Hold on," she said. "I know they were just—oh, there they are!"

A moment later, she went out the back door. It was a nice clear day, and not even that hot yet.

Spike was standing in the backyard, looking resigned.

"What?" she asked.

"I still can't believe I'm doin' this."

"You don't want something to happen to me?"

"No…"

"You don't have a problem killing other vampires. You said you killed some."

"Yeah…"

"So?" She stared him down.

"It's just…the principle of the thing."

"Oh, please. We're not back to the 'helping the Slayer thing' again, are we?"

"I s'pose not." He sighed. "Well, pet, c'mon. Show me what you got."

"What, you don't have some moves or anything to teach me?"

"Fight with me. You'll get the moves."

Buffy slowly circled him. "By…?"

"By not doin' the ones again that get you dead."

"And getting you dead? Y'know, since we're unarmed and all?"

She lunged with a straightforward staking motion that he easily avoided.

"You hit me in the heart with your fist, we'll call it your round."

"And how will I know when I'm dead?"

"Should be obvious."

Buffy saw that for the moment, Spike wanted her to take the offensive. She let out a series of punches that he avoided or blocked, and then they went on to trading arm-to-arm blows.

Suddenly he caught her arm in midair and twisted it at a painful angle.

It was such a simple movement. A moment later and her back was pressed to his front, his mouth at her neck.

"You're dead," he breathed in her ear.

Spike released her and she swung backwards at him, but he had already moved away.

Buffy quickly advanced, landing a punch in the face with her left hand as she brought her right down toward his chest, a move that had worked for her with other vamps. But he saw the line of her arm and caught it before it made contact with him. Pushing her off, he simultaneously threw her back several paces.

When she approached again, Spike took the initiative and swung first, a blow that she narrowly missed as she jumped to the side.

He didn't give her the chance to regain her ground, however. Advancing on her, Spike steadily pushed her back as they exchanged blows. Buffy tried to get the advantage once again, but it seemed that the offensive part was over for her unless she could retake it.

She tried a spinning kick, which was a mistake. He always got her on the kicks.

Spike caught her by the leg and yanked, his fist moving quickly to grab her by the hair as the rest of her came within reach.

"You're dead."

Then he spun his own body around once, sending her sprawling using the momentum of the action.

Buffy rolled several body lengths away, coming to a stop on the grass. That one had hurt a little.

Spike was unhurriedly making his way over.

It was the slow walk of a hunter. Confident, stalking—smoothly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, arms swaying slightly as he approached her.

A booted foot came down on her chest. "You don't watch, you get up. No one else is gonna wait."

The pressure was released, and Buffy slowly got to her feet.

Too slowly. A kick to her midsection sent her back down and careening into the unforgiving surface of a tree.

"You're dead."

Buffy instantly jumped to her feet, falling back into a fighting stance. "And now?"

He advanced. "We do this till you're not dead."

* * *

Buffy lay in the tub, soaking. Well, perhaps 'soaking' wasn't the right word to use. More like 'Buffy lay in the tub, because she wasn't sure she'd be able to move to do anything else.'

She and Spike had trained—no, fought, she amended, they'd definitely fought—until early afternoon. It had become apparent to both of them that despite her protests to the contrary, she couldn't keep going.

He hadn't gone easy on her. But she hadn't expected him to. Anyone she really fought would be trying to kill her, fighting dirty, and not pulling their punches.

Aside from the trying to kill her bit, Spike had definitely done all of the above. That wasn't to say that he had hurt her, specifically. He hadn't gone out of his way to land a painful blow, or pushed her more than he had to to make a point. It was simply that there was only so much of being knocked down, hit, and pulled that a person could take, even a Slayer person. Her arms were actually sore from hitting him so many times.

She'd gotten some of her own in and had surprised him a couple of times, even though it hadn't slowed him down for more than a split second. And she'd never managed to 'kill' him.

Buffy lost count of how many times she'd been killed.

Though having a strong opponent that she didn't have to worry about hurting was refreshing. On the other hand, she was really sore. But she did have Slayer strength and healing, so maybe it wasn't so bad. On the other hand, she was being whaled on by a vampire, so maybe it was.

She looked down at her nude body through the bathwater. There were surprisingly few marks, and those bruises that were already forming would easily be covered up by clothing until they disappeared. Quite thoughtful of him, really.

There was something the magazines said about that, about men who made sure their women were never marked where people would ask about it. She'd definitely found the smart sort of abuser, Buffy thought dryly.

Of course, she was paying him to beat her up. It would have been almost funny, if it weren't so horribly bizarre.

Buffy consoled herself with the thought that soon enough she would be beating him up, as well as any other vampire that crossed her path.

It was like in all those action movies where the karate dude or army guy gets the crap beat out of him, before he can overcome and beat the master, and then go on to kick his arch nemesis's ass. Except in those movies, the beating/training part was always a montage. Buffy found herself looking at the movies in a new light, as well as in desperate need of her own montage.

* * *

Willow came over later that afternoon, and took a tired, yet able to move again, Buffy around town, giving her the daylight tour. Stores, restaurants, parks, the campus again—all of the non-patrol things.

They had gotten back around dinnertime, and Buffy invited Willow to stay. When Joyce came in shortly after, Buffy introduced them.

"Mom, this is Willow. She goes to school here, too."

Joyce smiled and Buffy braced herself for it. She prayed her mother wouldn't say, 'I'm glad you made a friend,' like she was in fourth grade or something.

However, she only said, "Nice to meet you. Did you meet Buffy on campus?"

Willow, who had already been warned not to bring up Slaying, magic, or Hellmouths, simply said, "Yep."

"Well, that's nice. Do you have any of the same classes?"

"No."

"But we checked our schedules, and we have the same English professor," Buffy said.

"Maybe you two can study together," she suggested brightly.

They'd gone on to talk about all the usual stuff, Buffy supposed. Over dinner, her mother asked Willow about her family, how long she'd lived here, how did she like college, etc.

Afterward, noticing the increasing twilight, Buffy said, "I'm gonna go hang with Willow for a while, Mom. Hit the coffee shop or something."

Joyce looked up from doing the dishes. "Okay, honey. Don't be too late?"

Buffy nodded, and Willow followed her out the door.

"I feel kind of bad for lying to her, but I can't just dump the whole Slayer thing on her."

"Yeah. I remember when I tried to tell my mom about the magic. She went all clinical on me, and explained that she understood why I was acting out, and that I had delusions of power and was identifying myself with mythical icons in an attempt to control my spiraling adolescent life." Willow frowned to herself. "Not really the same though, mainly since I could do magic in my room, and there was no going out all the time. Well, not until recently, and by then I was out of the house anyway. But still."

"Yeah, but still," Buffy agreed.

"You get used to it," she encouraged. "The weirdness like becomes routine."

_Oh, I'm way past routine already_, Buffy thought as they walked. The weirdness had taken over every part of her life so gradually that she hadn't even noticed it.

She looked over her shoulder into the darkness, and though there was nothing there, she could feel Spike trailing behind them.


	42. Interviews

_A/N: Much thanks to LindsayH for beta-ing from here on out!

* * *

_

"I swear I can totally handle it alone. I'll just make one last sweep of the two big cemeteries downtown and then call it a night."

"If you're quite certain," Giles said.

"It's not like I expect someone to come along with me every night," Buffy said. "And third time's the charm, right? I need to like solo or something. I'll be fine."

He paused. Then, "Very well, if you insist."

Buffy watched as Giles disappeared and then continued on her way. Restfield was only two blocks over. It wasn't that she didn't like the company on patrol, but really, she should be doing this on her own at least sometime. Or at least as on her own as she was going to get. And Giles and the others had been patrolling by themselves for months. They deserved a break.

But Buffy had another reason for wanting Giles out of the way. It was almost like she could feel it in the air. _They_ were going to put in an appearance tonight. She wasn't exactly sure why she felt that way, and there was no logical explanation for it, but the feeling remained nonetheless.

Indeed, she had barely entered the cemetery when they suddenly appeared before her. She recognized Drusilla from a fuzzy photograph, and the vampire on her arm could only be Angelus. Buffy couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was no way this guy could _not_ be Angelus. His attitude and body language left no doubt in her mind.

He was wearing black on black, and Drusilla had on a tight, red velvet dress that screamed 'I'm a vampire.' She was beautiful, Buffy supposed, in a creepy, poignant sort of way.

Darla didn't appear to be with them.

The pair noticed her at the same time she saw them. Angelus came to a stop about a dozen feet away and ran a languid gaze over her, sizing her up and blatantly checking her out.

"And here I thought I had a snack," he said. "But you're the new Slayer."

Buffy twirled a stake. "Gee, what tipped you off?"

"So this is what replaced Faith. I gotta say, not bad. I always did have a thing for blondes."

"That so?"

"I'm kind of in a hurry tonight, but we could play for a bit."

"If by 'play' you mean someone ends up dusty, I've got the time if you do."

Suddenly his expression changed slightly as he glanced to the left. There was surprise, but not concern in his eyes, and then an evil smile slid over his face.

Buffy sensed another vampire behind her and knew without looking that it was Spike. He walked up to the point that his body was nearly touching hers, but didn't say a word.

Angelus was grinning like an idiot. He was obviously shocked but pleased, and was waiting in anticipation for her discovery.

"You're outnumbered," he said.

"Really? Cause I don't think so."

"I know something you don't know."

"Cliché much? Well, so do I. And I'm betting mine's better."

"Look over your shoulder," he said in a stage whisper.

Buffy turned and glanced casually at Spike, who was smiling with his tongue behind his teeth. She looked back at Angelus. "Yeah?"

Clearly nothing had prepared him that this was even a possibility. Angelus looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment, and then apparently deciding that Spike was the object of most interest, shifted his stance. Buffy was momentarily forgotten.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Spike."

"I get around." He paused. "_You're_ gettin' around better than last time, I see."

The phony smile faded, Buffy noticed. Apparently that was a sore spot. "No thanks to you," Angelus said.

Spike shrugged. "How're you, Dru?"

Drusilla turned mournful eyes on him and spoke for the first time. "My poor, poor Spike. So faraway."

He smiled slightly. "Same as ever, I see. So Angelus, where's your other broad? Didn't do her in to get your strength back, did you?"

The sudden look that crossed Angelus's face told Spike that he'd hit nearer the mark than he'd intended.

"Killed the bint, huh? Oh well, it'll save me the trouble."

"Oh, she's quite well," Drusilla said, nodding. "The Hellmouth has made her quite well again."

Still mindful of Buffy's position, Spike took a few steps forward, focusing on Dru. "And how's that, pet?" he asked softly, tilting his head.

"It was quite sad, really," she said.

"Dru!" Angelus hissed.

One thing that had always annoyed the hell out of Angelus was Spike's ability to understand Dru's ranting. The other was the fact that he had a knack for getting her to talk.

"What's sad?" he pressed her.

"Blood to blood to blood, and then the oldest things are gone. Grandmother was quite displeased."

Spike looked at Angelus, the flicker of an idea forming in his head. Darla had been done as well, but was better now, though something old was gone. Well, that was interesting.

Suddenly a scream cut through the silence. Buffy automatically shifted in the direction it came from.

Angelus shrugged. "The boys have to eat."

Buffy met Spike's eyes before she took off in the direction of the scream.

No longer cautious about a Slayer at his back, Angelus turned and shoved Spike into a tree trunk. "What the _hell_ are you doing? Why don't you kill her?!"

Spike pushed Angelus off so hard that the other vampire was thrown onto the dirt. "I don't take orders from you."

Clearly shocked, whether at the bluntness of the words or the strength behind them, Angelus stood and pulled Dru to him in a posturing gesture that Spike didn't even acknowledge.

"Fine," Angelus said. "You don't run with us anymore. I get it. That still doesn't explain why you're not killing her."

"Sorry mate, but that'd be what we call a conflict of interest."

"She's a _Slayer_! You kill her, end of conflict."

"She's gotten inside my boy," Drusilla said. "Wiggled into his head. And he's gotten into her as well."

Angelus, quick to jump to the crudest interpretation, grinned and said, "Oh. So you're fucking her." He sucked the air through his teeth. "Slayers aren't bad, I'll give you that. I killed one once, you know."

"Like I haven't."

"Yeah, but I kept mine alive a lot longer."

"Oh, please."

"And the torture—"

"Does that really count? I still did two of 'em."

"So is blondie going to be your third?" Angelus looked in the direction of Buffy, who had already killed one minion and was easily dispatching the second. "I'd love to watch. Of course, if you get tired of her before that, I'd be more than happy to take her off your hands."

Spike tightened. "Can't let that happen."

For a moment, Angelus simply stared at him. Then, "Are you saying you're _with_ her?" he spat.

"In a manner of speaking."

"And I thought Dru was insane. But here William the Bloody's got himself a little Slayer girlfriend. Fine. If you're not with us, you're against us."

"Well, yeah," Spike said in a bored tone. "What's that they say nowadays? 'Duh?'"

Angelus narrowed his eyes. "I've gotten a taste for Slayer myself. Just the other day I was saying how I wished I had another one." He smiled and glanced at Buffy, his gaze lingering on her. Then he turned, pulling Dru behind him and walking off into the night.

Spike watched them go.

A moment later, Buffy was back at Spike's side. "I dusted them."

"I know you did, pet."

She frowned. "Did you just let them walk away?"

"Define 'let.'"

"But we didn't even fight," she protested. "It was totally lame."

Spike looked at her. "Bloody hell, are you sayin' you wanted to fight him _tonight_?"

"Well, I guess not. But he didn't even try."

"That's not how he works, luv."

"And anyway, you completely stole my thunder. It was supposed to be 'Slayer confronts vampire rival,' not 'vampire ignores Slayer to catch up with other vampire.' What did you talk about, anyway?"

"Killin' Slayers."

"Lovely."

"And the not killin' of certain Slayers."

"I'm guessing you had to explain that part more than once."

Spike grinned. "He was a bit slow on the uptake, yeah." But the look on Angelus's face when the pin had finally dropped was priceless.

"So you're still okay with all this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno." She paused. "So that was Drusilla, huh?"

"Yeah."

He didn't offer any other comment, and Buffy decided not to press it.

"What was she saying earlier about Darla and the Hellmouth?"

Spike sighed. "I'm guessin' the little ritual I started went right on up the line."

"You mean Angelus did it to her."

"And then the Master. Who, if not dead, isn't gonna be much of a problem."

"Well, that's good news, if nothing else, I suppose."

* * *

"Terribly terrible news," Drusilla said as they entered the mansion. "They've come."

"Who?" Darla asked with obvious disinterest.

"The Slayer's come."

"Oh."

"She's brought my Spike."

"What?" Darla looked up sharply.

"He's here." Angelus slammed the door. "_Spike_ is working with the new Slayer."

"You're not serious."

"He practically said he was on her side."

"Spike kills Slayers. He's always had a Slayer thing, ever since he found out about them."

"Well, maybe now he's got a different Slayer thing." He shrugged. "Oh well, I'm gonna kill her anyway. And if he gets in the way— Should be fun all around."

Angelus frowned to himself. Spike had never been so…vocal before. Sure, he'd fume, he'd snark, he'd defy—he had finally left—but he'd never stood right up to have it out. The fact that Spike had done so, even now, annoyed him.

His eyes slid to Darla, who was looking at a magazine. She liked to be dressed impeccably in the latest fashions. Always had been. Back in the day, they used to go to the opera. He would catch the show, and she would catch someone whose gown she liked.

Darla said nothing, though he could tell she knew he was staring at her.

Angelus looked at her crossways.

"Oh, what?" she finally demanded.

"Spike asked if I killed you to get strong again." Upon seeing her glare, he continued, "He said it would save him the trouble if I did."

"So?"

"It was sort of an odd thing to say, don't you think? But, if he's actually helping her, well, what do Slayers do?"

"Kill vampires?" Then, "Oh, don't be ridiculous."

"Fine." He sat down. "But if he comes at you with a pointy stick, I wouldn't be surprised."

"If he comes after anyone, it's going to be you. You always did have that ridiculous rivalry. You two can have at it; Dru and I will sit it out like always."

"He may not play that way." He paused. "You know, in a way, the entire ritual thing was Spike's fault." Angelus looked back at Darla, and then brought up the thing that was not spoken of. "And everything that happened because of it."

She glared at him. "If you're going there, we might as well say those idiots in Prague are to blame. Perhaps we should hunt them down instead?"

"Oh, Spike already did that, quite well," Dru said.

"I'm just saying," he said.

"Yes, well. Perhaps," Darla conceded.

Angelus leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head and propping his foot up. "She's going to be fun."


	43. Outings

"So you're Buffy. Buff-ee," she drawled. "Hmm, I dunno. B works for me, what do you think?"

"I don't care what you think. You're just a dream."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"So, getting all set up in my town, huh?"

Buffy glared at her. "This isn't your town. You're dead."

"Maybe."

"No, you're definitely dead, or I wouldn't be the Slayer."

"Got me there. But maybe it's still my town."

"Nope."

"Probably not," she agreed. "It's his town."

* * *

That afternoon at the Magic Box, she mentioned the dream to Giles, who made a note of it. However, he was obviously much more interested in hearing about her encounter with Angelus on the previous night.

After apologizing again and again for leaving her alone, Buffy cut him off.

"Hey, no biggie. I'm here. Anyway, you might have gotten hurt or something. Have you actually fought him before?"

"Not as such," Giles admitted. "I've seen him, and once when we were in a group—but I could have been of assistance. Though I'm sure you handled yourself admirably. What happened?"

Buffy knew she had to choose her words carefully. "It was pretty much like you said, he didn't want to fight this time. He made some dumb comment about me being the Slayer, and I said if he wanted to end up dusty, blah, blah. But then I had to go and save some teenagers kissing in the bushes. When I came back, he was gone."

Giles nodded. "Of course. Others' safety is your primary concern."

"Oh, and I think the Master may be dead."

"Really? What makes you think so?"

"Well, I'm not completely sure, but Drusilla, the uh, insane one, just blurted something about blood and blood and the oldest thing in the Hellmouth being gone. Angelus seemed put off with her."

"It's possible, I suppose," he conceded, taking off his glasses. "It's true that we haven't heard anything from the Master since Angelus came to town, and records have indicated that the Aurelians didn't always get along. At any rate, Angelus is our primary focus until we know differently. Now…" He opened a notebook and gave her an expectant look.

After Giles finished questioning her and was going over what he'd written, she waved Willow over.

"So, are we going to the Bronze tonight?" Buffy asked. Then she quickly looked at Giles. "I mean patrolling. Patrolling at the Bronze. To kill the vampires," she added.

"Buffy, hard as it may be to fathom, I do realize that you're going to have a social life."

"But I totally am going patrolling after. And I'll definitely be watching for vampires at the Bronze."

"Very good."

Buffy turned to Willow. "So, what should I wear?"

* * *

As Buffy entered the Bronze, something suddenly felt very familiar, though she couldn't quite figure out why. Shrugging it off as having been in there before on patrol, she looked around for Willow.

"Buffy!"

She turned to see Willow sitting at one of the nearby tables. She was wearing a sparkly beige top with a peasant skirt, and there was a guy with reddish brown hair next to her.

"Hey," Buffy said.

"Buffy this is Oz," she said. "Oz, Buffy."

He nodded and held his hand out.

"So you're in the band?" Buffy asked. And thank God _that_ had come out, because 'so you're the werewolf' had been on the tip of her tongue.

"Yeah."

"Cool."

He nodded again. A few minutes later, he went backstage to set up.

"A man of few words, I see," she said.

"Yeah," Willow agreed. "But he liked you, I can tell."

"Good to know. You two look really cute together."

She blushed. "Thanks."

Later Xander arrived, and in a game that no one remembered starting, Willow and Buffy took turns picking out prospective girls for him out of the crowd.

"Oh, but she's cute," Willow said, pointing to a blonde. "You should talk to her."

"She's out of my league, Will."

"Is not! She's completely league-y. And alone," she hinted.

"You do remember what happened with the last girl I picked up? Are you _trying_ to get me killed?"

"What happened?" Buffy asked.

"She wanted to use me in some ritual to open up the nether realm."

"Okay, so you attract girls of the non-human variety sometimes," Willow admitted. "That doesn't mean you should stop looking."

Buffy frowned suddenly. "Speaking of the non-human variety, I'll be right back." She stood.

"You need someone—?"

"Nah, I got it."

Buffy made her way across the club, looking for the vampire she felt. She headed in the direction of the back, but only found several normal couples making out.

Then she saw a pair going out the side exit.

Bingo.

Buffy followed them out, made quick work of the fledgling before he'd even gotten his teeth in, and told the terrified girl to stay inside and not go places with strangers. Feeling good about the fact that she'd done her Slayer duty, she went back inside to have some well-earned enjoyment.

She was making her way over to Willow and Xander when she felt the significant presence of another vampire.

A pair of arms encircled her from behind, pulling her back onto the dance floor. Spike, of course. She brought her hands up to the leather-encased arms around her middle, as he ran his hands over the silky fabric of her shirt.

"You should wear black more often, pet."

"You're not supposed to be here," she whispered.

"Yeah? 'Trail you around town?' Am I doin' it wrong?"

"Yes. You're supposed to stay _hidden_."

"I'm just a stranger in a club," he said, leaning in as he pulled her to the music.

Though a voice in her head whispered that she shouldn't be doing this, she found that she didn't want to pull away. It was too easy to settle into his embrace, to fall back into something that had existed for so short a time that it almost never was.

"Some stranger. Any minute Willow and Xander are going to come over here wanting to know why I'm dancing with a _vampire_."

"Do I look like a vampire?" he purred in her ear.

"You do. You really, really do."

"Then why when we met, didn't you say, 'Hey, you're a vampire?'"

He was _really_ enjoying this, she could tell. Buffy turned around to face him, his hands settling on her hips as she found the lapels of his duster. "Because, obviously, I didn't know vampires were real," she said, keeping her voice low. "But here, on the Hellmouth, people are going to take one look and say, 'vampire.'"

"You're givin' people too much credit, pet. They see what they want."

"They're gonna see a vampire."

"And why's that?"

"I already told you. The black. The coat."

"No changes on the wardrobe this time."

"Besides, you still _look_ like a vampire."

"I've always looked like this."

"Bleached hair was in during the 1800s, was it?"

He chuckled.

"Though come to think of it, not so in right now, either."

"You know you like it."

"What color is your hair?" She peered carefully at his eyebrows. "And I'm thinking there are some curls here." She brought her hand up and ran it through the locks just above his forehead.

"Hey, watch it," he said, pulling back slightly. "You'll mess with the look."

The vampire look, she thought. Though there was more to it than 'the look.' The way he walked, the way he watched—Spike practically oozed 'vampire.'

However, glancing at the two people who probably knew more about what happened on the Hellmouth than anyone else in the room, and seeing that they were not raising the alarm, she decided that maybe Spike was right. People saw what they wanted to see. Though technically, there was no way to tell a non-game face vampire from everyone else just by looking, except for their occasional wardrobe lapses.

Buffy grinned. "A lot of vamps walk around looking exactly like they did the day they died, you know."

"A lot of vamps are idiots. You gotta blend. Somewhat," he amended.

"Yeah, I guess you'd stick out pretty bad if you were walking around in coattails and ruffled collars or whatever."

A few moments later, the dance ended and he slipped away again, lost in the crowd. Buffy went back to the table where Willow and Xander were sitting. Despite the impossibility of it, she was still half expecting the third degree.

However, when she got there Willow was beaming at her. It was the universal girl face of 'you just danced with a complete hottie, go you! now give me all the details.'

"So, who was he?" she asked as Buffy sat down. "Do you know him? Did you just meet him? He looked really into you."

"He's someone I knew in L.A.," she said with complete truthfulness. "He saw me, and well, there you go."

"He looked really into you," she repeated.

"I'm sure not," Buffy said, trying to steer the topic away from Spike.

"There were definite into vibes," Xander said.

"See, Buffy! Xander's a guy, he knows. Oh oh, I know! He's the one you mentioned before. The one it ended with suddenly."

"Yeah…" she admitted.

Willow beamed. "So, is he going to be in town?"

"For a while, I think. Um, who wants more drinks?"

* * *

After the Bronze, she and Willow had gone on patrol, Oz joining them. He really was of few words, and though he managed to speak as little as possible, he didn't come off as unfriendly. And he was obviously completely in love with Willow.

They'd hit the cemeteries, dusted a few vamps, and called it a night.

As soon as Willow and Oz disappeared, Spike appeared.

"Well?" he said, as if he hadn't heard every word.

"Fine. No one asked me if you were a vampire. Happy?"

He grinned.

"I think patrol is dead tonight, pun intended. I'm going home." Buffy looked at him carefully. "You _do_ have a place to live now, don't you?"

"Well, yeah."

"So are you gonna invite me over? Only fair, after all."

Which was how fifteen minutes later she found herself standing in a living room that could only be described as hospital bare.

"It's like a motel, but without the crappy art." Buffy looked around. "I liked your other place better."

"I still got it. Bit more permanent, after all."

"Oh. Uh, right." She knew he was going to leave sometime. But the last time she'd brought it up, he had shrugged it off. "What about all that 'I'm pretty hard to get rid of whether you want me or not?'"

"Yeah, there is that." He looked around. "Well, I at least need a telly. Maybe a microwave."

"And maybe some rugs," Buffy suggested. "And ooh—decorating tip, mirrors make a room look bigger."

"Ha bloody ha."


	44. Disclosures

It occurred to Buffy that while she wasn't having sex with Spike, she had entered into a very physical relationship with him. She hadn't quite intended to, but she had done so nonetheless.

When it came to blood—at least her blood—Spike was not a 'wham, bam, thank you ma'am' kind of vampire.

It was Saturday.

Spike covered every inch of her. His body pressed hers into the mattress, his mouth fastened on her neck. One of his arms was wrapped underneath her, pulling her up even as his weight pushed her down, as if it were possible to draw her any closer to him. His other hand was at the back of her head, fingers alternately flexing and relaxing against her skull as he drank.

He had come to her window, appearing as she got ready for bed after patrol, and tapped against the glass with a fingernail. She had closed her door, slid open the window, and sat down on the bed.

He'd wordlessly shed the duster, and the rest had followed suit from there.

Presently Spike pulled out of her neck, finishing once again by slipping back into his human features and gently lapping at the holes he'd made.

For some reason, Buffy thought that once he'd gotten his fill, he'd leave as quickly and silently as he came. So she was surprised when he rolled onto his side, pulling her with him and cradling her body against his. His chin rested on the top of her head, and one of his hands loosely draped over her shoulder.

And then he was still. Deathly still.

It was one thing that she'd noticed the night they'd been together. As she'd lain next to him afterward, he had been still. Not a muscle had moved in him. No heartbeat, no rise and fall of lungs, nothing. Only an immobile, cool body pressed against hers.

The only difference was now he was warm.

When she woke up the next morning, he was gone. Too mentally and physically drained to take it as an insult or rejection, she rather realized that it was good. Explaining Spike to her mother was _not_ something she wanted to do.

Drowsily turning off her alarm—she would be sleeping late—Buffy rolled over and went back to sleep.

* * *

Despite Buffy's careful precautions, everything came crashing down that night.

Her mother knew.

Not even here two weeks and her mother knew about the Slaying.

They'd been out doing last minute shopping when two vampires practically jumped them at their car. Buffy had dusted both in quick succession, leaving her mother staring, mouth open as her bag fell to the ground.

There was absolutely no way to explain away two vampires in game face disintegrating three feet from her.

"Mom, we need to talk."

Buffy had driven them home, explaining what she could as she did so. For some reason, it was easier if she didn't actually have to look Joyce in the face.

She called Xander, who said he and Oz would cover patrol, and Giles, who would hopefully lend some credibility to the whole story. Even if he was a stranger, he looked credible.

Giles arrived at their house shortly after they did (with books, of course), and together they told Joyce the whole of it, Buffy filling in how she became the Slayer in L.A., and Giles informing her of the history and duties of the Slayer.

It was very similar to what Wesley had told her. Buffy decided there must be a "One Girl in All the World" speech that Watchers were required to memorize in school, sort of like the Preamble to the Constitution.

It was over an hour later now, and Giles had just left. Buffy sat facing her mother in the living room.

"So you're a slayer."

"The Slayer. There's only one."

"Right." She shook her head, as if to clear it. "Honey, have you tried not being one?"

"It doesn't exactly work like that, Mom. I was called—I'm the Slayer. Look, it's really not so bad. I've got superpowers." She smiled and tried to lighten the mood. "Great for lifting furniture to vacuum."

"But you have to fight these vampires."

"Yeah. But it's okay." There was no reason for her mother to have to realize right away how dangerous what she did was.

"And there are vampires; vampires are real. Those men in the parking lot—their faces—and they just exploded."

She fell silent, and after a moment, Buffy asked, "So…are you going to be okay with all this?"

"I'm not…okay with it, but I think I can deal with it. I just need some time. And a drink, I think," she said nervously. "And Mr. Giles also fights vampires?"

"Sort of. Not so much fights as researches. With books and stuff. He was, though, before I got here. But fighting is the Slayer's job."

"And Mr. Giles owns a magic shop? A real magic shop?"

"Yes, Mom. And Willow's a witch. A real witch."

"This is going to take some getting used to." Joyce paused and looked around the room. Her eyes paused in the corner window. "So that's how you got the Christmas tree home and set up the other day."

"Yeah," Buffy admitted.

"So I suppose there's no Xander with a truck."

"Oh, there's totally a Xander. Just no Xander tree-helping."

"What's he?"

"Huh? Oh, no, Xander's normal. Well, in an I-stake-vampires sort of way, but he's not a witch or anything."

Buffy then hit the high points of the vampire crash course again. 'If you see someone who looks like that, run; don't invite people in after dark; here's some holy water for your purse.'

Her mother had gone to bed shortly after, and Buffy reflected that it hadn't gone as badly as she thought it would have. At least she wouldn't have to be sneaking around every night, nor was her mother calling the loony bin on the lot of them.

After that, they had a relatively normal Christmas. It seemed Christmas was not a particularly vampy time, even on a Hellmouth, and Buffy had a few nice days of non-patrolling relaxation.

Joyce had insisted that she invite everyone over for lunch on Christmas day, and in spite of Buffy's protests, her mother had pulled out the gold-rimmed china and plated candlesticks. But regardless of the setting, they had soon fallen into a friendly talk that was strangely comfortable, even though her mother kept curiously bringing up Hellmouth related things.

There was only one person Buffy didn't see over the holidays. Knowing that she wasn't patrolling, or perhaps sensing that she'd be busy with family and friends, he had stayed away.

* * *

-

-

Spike was lying on his bed, chain smoking. It was one of the benefits of being dead, not having to worry about annoying things like health. Smoking had the added benefit of not coming with a hangover.

He wasn't particularly in a mood, but chain smoking just seemed like the thing to do while he mulled certain things over.

He took another long drag, pulling the last out of it. Then he dropped his arm over the bed, casually tossing the cigarette onto a plastic bag that was serving as his ashtray.

Certain things being Buffy. The more time he spent with her, the clearer it became.

Spike lit up another.

She was like a drug. A wonderful, horrible drug that he completely craved.

It wasn't just the blood. Not that the blood wasn't good—there were no words to describe how good it was—but he craved her, desired _her_. All of her. Her presence. The whole package. Even if she was the Slayer.

He knew he wasn't getting out of this.

Not that he wanted to.

Which meant that he was right and truly buggered.

In a good way.

Somehow, he'd known as much since the night he had drunk her blood and agreed to come with her. If he had never left L.A., maybe he would have been able to—well, not forget about her, certainly, but move on. Hold on to her as a happy memory.

Maybe not.

But then she'd gone and made him an offer he couldn't refuse. Maybe he would have followed her without it, stalked her around Sunnydale, keeping himself amused and her alive.

Or maybe not.

Spike had never been one for what ifs. What mattered was the now. And now, she had hired him once again.

Sure, he'd do what she'd paid him to do—he'd watch her back, teach her to fight, fight dirty even, make her into the best Slayer if that's what she wanted. Some of it he would have done anyway, if he'd come here on his own.

He realized that he'd do whatever it took to keep her alive.

But he'd also do more than that; he'd do what he wanted. He wasn't going to hide in the shadows, only coming out when she called him.

She didn't seem too bothered by this attitude so far. There was an easy familiarity that they had both fallen back into. She didn't seem adverse to his company. And as long as he didn't show up and introduce himself to her pals, he doubted she would press the matter.

There was more going on than she professed, even if she didn't want to admit it and was trying to keep the past and the present separate. 'Business,' she said, but it was still there, hovering between them. He knew it and she knew it. They danced around the obvious during everything that they did.

The only time he had all of her was the blood—he could pull her to him and possess her fully. There were no pretenses, no words, nothing but them.

They got along best when they didn't talk about things. They got along best when there were rules to go by. Hell, they got along best when he was working for her.

Something in his mind whispered that they got along best when he wasn't killing, but he didn't intend to explore that at the moment.

He'd agreed to it, so he would do it.

And despite the fact that she was the Slayer, it was with a bizarre sort of satisfaction that he thought of shaping her, sharpening her skills razor fine, until there was nothing that could stand against her. She'd be a force to be reckoned with, powerful and beautiful and lethal.

Spike started another cigarette.

There was a knock on his door. It had to be Buffy; there was no one else that would come here. Slowly getting to his feet, he made his way to the living room.

"Ohmygod, it smells like a smoke factory in here," she said, stepping inside. "Have you been smoking for the past three days?"

"Just today."

"Good thing I brought you these, then," she said, holding up a brown paper bag.

He opened it, finding several packages of cigarettes.

"I wanted to get you something you'd actually use," Buffy continued. "Sort of a non-Christmas Christmas present. You know, since I haven't seen you."

"I didn't get—"

"It's no big." She shrugged.

"Tell you what, pet. I'll buy you dinner."

"Okay." She smiled.

Spike grabbed his duster, watching as she evenly but quickly tread down the metal steps that led to the ground.

So little and light and sweet. But she'd be able to take anyone, anything that threatened her.

And if she couldn't, he would.


	45. Accounts

_A/N: Because I always wondered what would have happened if the Mayor had met the real Angelus, not the pretending one in Enemies…

* * *

_

_May, 1999:_

Wilkins looked up from his desk, a slight frown creasing his forehead as he saw the intruder. "Do you have an appointment?"

"I know I should have made one, what with you being a public official and all. But I just ate your secretary, so I'm thinking it wouldn't have mattered anyway."

"You must be Angelus," the Mayor said, smiling. "My little Faith just can't stop talking about her latest conquest." He held out his hand. "Glad to meet you, my boy."

"I've got a more than a few years on you, _old man_."

"So what can I do for you?"

"You can die."

Angelus pulled a dagger and threw it through the man's gut. He watched with interest, but not exactly surprise, as Wilkins pulled the dagger out and the wound closed itself.

"That was a brand new shirt," he said, taking out a handkerchief and running it over the dagger. He casually tossed it back to Angelus. "You've got gumption. I like that. I even had a place on my team for you, but I've been told you don't play well with others."

"I don't."

"Well, that's a shame. There could have been a bright future here for you. Tell me, what's on your mind?"

"Plan B."

Suddenly the three minions in the room were clouds of dust, as a crossbow-wielding Darla entered the room flanked by several other armed vampires.

Angelus smiled. "I hope Faith told you that I like to come out on top."

The Mayor looked at the settling dust. "Now, there was no reason to do that. Attitude may get you attention, but courtesy wins respect." The smile never left his face. "You can't kill me, you've already seen that."

Angelus grinned. "But there are things so much worse than death. I have experience." He leisurely paced closer as he spoke.

"You can't even hurt me. I'm what you might call impervious."

"Maybe not," he agreed. "But your minions here are gone. And I have it on good authority that Faith is out by the airport picking up some crate. So it's just us. And I really don't care that you have some big demon thing planned. Other vamps might be impressed enough to follow you around, but I've thought things through." Faster than the eye could see, he whipped out a pair of manacles, slapping them over the other man's wrists. "See, I like the Hellmouth; there's good pickings. If you destroy it all, well, what's left for the rest of us to eat?" He smiled again. "The fact that Faith was helping you, that's just a bonus."

"You can't jus—umph!"

A gag was quickly shoved in. Angelus held Wilkins as he struggled. He laughed after a moment. "Gee, looks like you didn't get super strength with that invulnerability. Might want to look into that next time. Or attract some more powerful followers." He threw him to two of the vampires. "Bring him."

* * *

"So," Angelus said as he played with the dagger, "Magic like that doesn't usually last forever. Not that having you tied up here for eternity wouldn't be riveting, but tell me, how long till I can kill you?"

Silence.

"Nothing to say now, huh? Well, I guess I'll just stick a sword in you everyday and see what happens." He glanced at several of the minions, and then looked at Dru. "Should we start a betting pool?"

"Yes, let's poke him full up, like a lovely pin cushion."

Suddenly the door to the mansion slammed open. "You fucking bastard! I'll fucking kill you for this!"

"Faith." Angelus grinned. "So glad you could make the party." He wagged a finger. "Seems something big was going down. And _someone_ has been playing both sides."

Faith lunged at him. "I was _always_ on his side. Well, since I met him, at least. You were just a good time."

"That bit about more powerful followers," Wilkins spoke up.

"Shut up!" Angelus growled. He spun Faith, slamming her into the wall. "Funny, I was always on _my_ side. You wouldn't tell me what I wanted, so I found out on my own. I had wondered what was up last month when you got all reclusive. But there's always someone willing to talk in this town, if you…persuade them."

She pushed him off and bounced back, stake at the ready.

"I bet he helped you get rid of the Council team too, huh? After I killed that idiot Watcher. That was fun, you liked that—I'll let you watch when I kill him, too." He nodded toward the Mayor.

"Over my dead body!"

"Wait your turn. You had to know I'd get bored with you eventually. That was part of the thrill, wasn't it? 'How long until he turns on me?' Well, I hope you had fun, because I know I'm about to."

Faith charged him.

However, before she could complete the action, something hit her from behind. She staggered, feeling the distinct and painful sensation of something sharp entering her flesh.

It was all the time he needed to immobilize her. She could feel the blood coming out of her, the fire that was shooting into her gut. It wasn't a fatal shot, but it was damn close.

Then there was another.

She heard a slight sound of annoyance from Angelus.

"Well, I had to be sure," a voice said from across the room.

Darla stood, crossbows in each hand. She smiled at Angelus. "Hey, lover."

Angelus looked at Faith as he clapped the manacles on her. "I don't think you've met Darla. She's just now graced us with her presence again. She always comes back, eventually." He grinned. "So I no longer need you—for any reason."

She moaned as the chains stretched her arms up and pulled at the wounds.

He turned to look at Wilkins, who was tied to an opposite pillar. "I bet you're a man of practical knowledge. Do you know the best way to get an arrow out?" He regarded Faith for a moment. "I would leave them in, but I can't have her checking out just yet. I've got lots planned for her." He smiled, placing one of his hands on her shoulder, the other on a shaft protruding from her back. "Arrows—you have to push all the way through. Like this."

She screamed, jerking forward as her head rolled back.

Angelus snapped the arrow's head off.

Faith grit her teeth as he pulled the shaft out, managing to remain silent.

Before he removed the next one, she had passed out.

"She's quite a trooper," he commented. "I'm counting on that." Angelus smiled as he approached Wilkins. He casually wiped the blood from one of the broken arrows on the man's suit. "I might not be able to hurt you—yet—but I bet watching me torture her would be just as good." He searched the other man's face, and then gave a cold smile. "See? I told you there were things worse than death."

-

-

* * *

Buffy sprawled in her chair at the Magic Box.

The previous night, she and Spike had gone to a chain restaurant that was not quite fast food, but not quite sit-down. He'd bought her a (day after) Christmas dinner in return for her cigarettes, which honestly, she hadn't planned on buying when she was doing her Christmas shopping, so she wasn't really put off that he hadn't gotten her anything. There was no reason why he should have. Or she should have, either. It's not like they were—

At any rate, it had been nice, relaxing. They'd taken his bike—the place was out on the highway—and Buffy couldn't help but smile as she thought of when they'd gone driving before and he'd gotten her junk food at the sleazy gas station.

"So Angelus mentioned Faith?"

Buffy blinked at Giles. "Huh?"

"Do try to pay attention, Buffy."

Buffy sat up straighter. Willow and Xander were there, and Giles was making her go over her entire meeting with Angelus again.

"Angelus mentioned Faith?" he asked.

"Yeah," Buffy said. "Something like, 'so you're what replaced her.'" She'd managed not to mention Spike, even keeping her story straight from the first time.

"But he didn't say specifically that he killed her?"

"I mean, he acted like he sort of did, but he didn't say. But aren't we sort of assuming he killed her?"

"Well, yes," Giles said. "But there are too many variables that we're unsure of. Any number of—"

"I know, I know." Buffy sighed and rolled her head back. "Man, I'd give anything to know what really happened with Faith already. Maybe she'll be more talky in the next bizarre dream."

"There's no evidence that it's actually Faith in your dreams, Buffy. It could merely be prophetic, or—or, retroactive, even."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Excuse me, does this anything include monetary compensation?"

Buffy looked up. The brunette girl that had been hanging around the shop had approached the table and was standing primly before the group.

"Huh?"

"You said that you would give anything to know what happened with Faith. Does this anything include monetary compensation?"

"Do you know something?"

"Will you pay me?"

Buffy glanced at Giles out of the corner of her eye. He shrugged. "I guess, if it's useful," she said.

"It's very useful. Not that I could imagine how you would use it." She sat down in the empty chair.

Giles had slipped into full Watcher mode, pen in his hand as he looked at her expectantly. "And you know this how?"

"Oh, I was there."

"You're a vampire!" Xander exclaimed, leaning away.

"I am not."

"But you were with Faith, when?" Giles prompted.

"When Angelus had her chained up."

"And the vampires what, just let you out?" Xander asked.

"Oh, no. I teleported."

"Uh-huh."

Giles, however, seemed to take her comment at face value. "Are you a witch?"

"A vengeance demon," she said, as if the answer were obvious. "Former, unfortunately."

"Er, I see."

"What's a vengeance demon?" Buffy asked.

"We wreak vengeance for those scorned. Scorned women, particularly."

"Faith."

She nodded. "You see, Faith had been playing both sides, which is something you have to admire. As a fellow female who's out for herself, I respect that. When Angelus discovered Faith was seeing the Mayor behind his back—in a strictly non-sexual way, I understand—he wasn't pleased, with her or with what was about to happen. Not that I blame him—I mean, have you ever _been_ to an Ascension? Not the party you book. Anyway, Angelus was particularly enraged that she was helping him. He took the Mayor and she—"

"Good Lord. You mean we have Angelus to thank for the Mayor's disappearance and the halting of the Ascension? Er, do continue on."

"She went to kill Angelus, but never made it out. Not long after, he killed the Mayor in front of her."

"But the Ascension was to happen last summer."

She stared at him blankly. "Yes?"

"Good Lord. You mean Angelus had Faith since then?"

"Obviously."

Giles looked down.

"There's nothing you could have done," Buffy said. He was silent. "What, were you going to storm the fortress?"

"Perhaps not," he conceded. "But I could have contacted the Council—"

"And they would have been _so_ ready to help," Xander said. "What with what she did to Wes, the next guy, and the team they sent the first time."

"Still," Willow said, "Poor Faith."

"What did you think happened to her?" Buffy asked.

"Honestly? I had no idea," Giles said. "In the beginning, we thought she'd been killed. But when the Council reported that no new Slayer had been called, it didn't seem entirely unlikely that she'd simply left town. She had no sense of duty, and had gone missing several times before. And with no personal effects to do a location spell— It wasn't until you were called that we knew something had happened. I never suspected that Angelus had kept her all this time. Despite what she did, no one should have to endure—" Frowning, he cut himself off.

There was a silence, and Buffy looked back at the girl. "What happened after Angelus killed the Mayor?"

"She went crazy, threatening him and such. Though obviously, there wasn't anything she could do to him. He tortured her more. Later, she tried to sex her way out of it, but he was done playing that game." She shrugged. "She wanted vengeance. We can feel it, you know. It started when Angelus first took the Mayor, and it burned after he killed him. But she still wanted to do it herself, then. It was months before she was finally in the state for me to answer her. Unfortunately, to grant wishes, we have to take form.

"She was so close to saying something, never mind that I just appeared before her—do you know how _hard_ it is sometimes to get people to actually _wish_? Anyway, I had thought they were all occupied. But the woman was suddenly there. She snatched my pendant, saying the pixies had told her I'd come to hurt her daddy. Before I could get it back, Angelus heard the commotion and came in. He recognized what I was, because he took it from her and smashed it, saying that he'd had enough of vengeance already. I called out to D'Hoffryn, who teleported me back to Arashmahar, but he wouldn't give me my powers back. I'm still slightly bitter, though I think I'm adjusting to mortality nicely."

"Well," Giles said after a moment, "That's quite the—it explains rather a lot, actually. But you didn't actually see her die?"

"There was no way she was getting out of that. Trust me. That was way more than bondage fun."

"Yes, well, as Buffy's the Slayer now, true—but is there any chance he turned her?"

She shook her head. "She would have attacked him first thing when she rose. Even as a vampire, she would have still been pissed. Not to mention, you would have heard her tearing up the town."

"Right," Buffy said. "Giles, pay her."

"Er."

"What, doesn't the Council reimburse you for that sort of thing?"

"Only if I can get a receipt." Sighing, Giles got up and went to the register. He came back with two twenties and handed them to the young woman, who frowned, but put them in her purse without comment.

"This whole human experience is bizarre. Two months and I'm already out of money. Did you know that if I want to live somewhere I must pay a thing called rent?"

There was a silence, and then she turned to her left. "I'm Anya," she said brightly. "What's your name?"

"Uh, Xander."

Anya smiled.


	46. Assumptions

The secret to stealing blood—stealing anything, really—was to look like you weren't. It was an obvious thing to say, but much harder to pull off.

But then, he'd had decades of practice.

Not at stealing blood, but stealing.

Spike leisurely stalked through the hallways of the hospital. He had no clue where he was going, but that wasn't the point. He looked like he knew where he was going. He let his nose guide him, despite the fact that the whole hospital smelled of blood, even once you got past the ER. Blood and disease, and the chemicals to cover it up.

But what he wanted was fresh blood. It didn't take him long to find it, though he had to wait a moment before he could slip into the room and load up his duster pockets.

He walked back the way he came.

Buffy's blood could have lasted him from week to week, but he wanted something to take the edge off. This would last him for a while, would do for a nip here and there.

He'd also found the local demon bars and had gotten a shot a time or two. It had occurred to him, as he drank, that Buffy probably wouldn't like the fact that he was drinking human blood that had come from who knows where, but he'd decided that what Buffy didn't know wouldn't hurt her. The bar probably stole it just the same; it was too much effort to bleed someone.

At any rate, he could easily mix his own blood and booze at home.

It also occurred to him that Buffy wouldn't like him taking blood from the hospital.

Buffy would have to deal.

* * *

Over and over and over.

That's what they were doing today—the same moves over and over and over.

After several spectacularly ineffective attacks on her part in the beginning, Spike had decided that she was going to do it until she got it right. He had then made her come at him in a particular way with no variation until she successfully beat him, and could do so repeatedly.

Then he would attack her in the same way until she stopped him.

Then they would move on.

Putting it all together, however, was a different story. Despite how well Buffy had been doing, when Spike declared a free-for-all using anything they'd done, she found herself coming up short more than half the time. It was more than knowing the moves, more than knowing to do this when that happens; it was how to anticipate what was coming next, how to gauge her opponent's movements and use them to her advantage.

This was completely different from the minimal kicks and punches she performed on the vampires she staked every night. Spike was teaching her to fight. Martial-arts-street-fighting-kill-or-be-killed type fighting.

She had to admit that he was really good. Scarily good. Which was what resulted from one hundred plus years of experience, she supposed.

"You're not fast enough, luv."

"You're too fast," she complained, swinging half-heartedly. It was getting late and they were both winding down, she could tell.

Spike circled her, his head cocked to one side as he studied her. He was doing that predator thing. "Remember your disadvantage. I'm faster. Right now, I'm stronger."

"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up." She twisted to keep track of him. "How does that help me?"

Suddenly he was behind her, his arms pinning hers. "Don't get within range unless you're sure of yourself."

"Right." Buffy sagged against him. "I'm beat. Can we call it a day?"

She felt him shrug. "Sure." He let go, and they both went over to the shaded porch steps. Spike lit up a cigarette, and Buffy took a long gulp from her water bottle.

"What did you mean right now you're stronger?"

"Slayers should be stronger than vamps," he said. "Wouldn't be much point otherwise, would there?"

"I guess not."

He took another drag from the cigarette. "You'll get there, Slayer."

"Don't—"

"Don't call you that, right. Sometimes it slips, luv. Just seems natural-like."

"Well, try not to slip," she snapped.

He tilted his head at her. "What about Slayer irritates you so bloody much?"

"Because Slayer is what the vampires who are trying to kill me every night call me!" she blurted. "If I was nothing but the Slayer, you would have killed me in L.A. in some horrible duel to the death."

The smoke suddenly went down the wrong way, and Spike sputtered.

"Don't say it's not true," she said. "You're helping me because I'm me, not because I'm the Slayer."

"Well, yeah," he said slowly. "Wouldn't help just any Slayer."

"Don't you ever wonder about if things had gone differently? If you hadn't known me?"

"Not really." But a sudden mental image came to him, of him hearing about a Slayer in L.A., tracking her down, fighting her, killing her—Buffy—

"Yeah, well. Because you would have come out on top."

"Probably," he said, only half listening, mouth suddenly dry.

"Probably?" she asked. "Were we even in the same dimension just now? You totally kicked my ass."

It made him sick, the thought of her as just another kill. Some hot night under the orange streetlights, him drawing her out, doing it without knowing what she could have—

"Don't play the what if game, pet. It never does anyone any good." Spike took a long drag from his cigarette, looking away. "I won't call you Slayer."

"Besides," he continued, to distract her from her morbid what if game, "It's not like it was an obsession. Otherwise I would've done a lot more than two, yeah? Not like those other vamps, the ones who were after you before."

"Yeah, them."

"Course, the hunters didn't want the real thing. They wanted the girl before. They didn't want to fight a real Slayer, too dangerous for 'em."

"Yeah, Wesley said something like that. He wouldn't really talk about it, though."

Spike looked at her.

"It was you," she realized. "You're the one that told him."

"Yeah."

"How did you know?"

"I didn't at first. But I found out, didn't I?"

She took another swig of water. "I'm probably going to regret asking this, but why did they want me? Or anyone else?"

"The blood."

"Again with the blood. Well, I dusted some of them, and never saw the others, so I guess they really don't come after Slayers. Once I became the Slayer, did they just leave town or something?"

"They were gonna, actually."

"But they didn't?"

"Didn't get a chance to. I killed them."

"Huh?"

Spike slowly turned toward her. "They were after you. I killed them."

He said it so simply, like you might say, 'It's raining. I took an umbrella.'

Buffy wasn't sure she had a response for that, other than 'Less vampires, great!' He killed them for her. Sure, it was just vampires, but he'd done it after she'd left him, when she had no intention of ever seeing him again.

"Why?" she asked.

"They tried to hurt you."

"Buffy! Honey, are you—oh."

Buffy whipped around and saw her mother standing at the back door. She quickly stood up, Spike following her.

"Hi, Mom." She winced at her own voice. It sounded like a squeak.

"Why, hello Spike." The door shut behind her as she stepped out onto the porch.

"Joyce."

Buffy barely heard her mother's question, she was so busy running over things in her head. _Okay, so Mom knows about the Slaying, but there's no reason for her to know Spike is a vampire, no one needs to know that. Should I say he's helping me? I should have thought of something better after—_

"I was in town," Spike was smoothly saying. "And thought I'd pop 'round and see Buffy here. But I'd best be going."

"Oh, but I don't mean to run you off—"

"Nah, I got stuff to do anyway. Might see you 'round later."

"Well, all right."

Then he walked around the back fence and was gone.

Buffy turned to see Joyce looking at her with the Mom Stare.

She decided to go with the original story. "We had a thing," she mumbled.

"Well, I wondered about you two."

Buffy's mouth fell open. "Huh?"

"It was obvious he liked you."

"Mom?"

"I was sort of surprised you didn't see him after he left us."

"I kinda did. I just, uh, didn't tell anyone."

"He's a little older, but well, you're a grown girl, I figured you could make these decisions yourself."

"You're completely blowing my mind here," Buffy said.

"Honey, I'm not blind. And you're not sixteen anymore. So," she said, "Is he really just passing through, or is he here for you?"

"Um, me. But, there's some issues. Stuff happened."

"Things happen in every relationship."

"Whoa! There's no relationship. There's just—us. Two people who—who are not in a relationship. No relations—ship! No relationship. Not now."

"But there was?"

"Yeah…"

"And now?"

"It's complicated. I mean, someday, if the issues—" Buffy cut herself off. "They're mostly his issues, you know," she said.

Joyce smiled. "Aren't they always? Come on, since I got off early, I brought takeout."

Buffy followed her inside.


	47. Pieces

"I must say, you're doing wonderfully, Buffy." Giles sat down, wiping his face with a handkerchief. "Quite—quite extraordinary."

Buffy picked up the staffs, which they had only switched to doing for the last half hour. "Yeah, but you're really on top of that fencing stuff."

She put the weapons up and glanced around the cleaned up back room. The excess stock for the store had been removed, and the training items had been set up by Xander, as promised (though Buffy had lifted up the punching bag while he fixed the chain into the ceiling).

"Well, I made quite a study of it," he said. "One does not necessarily need great strength. Fencing polishes technique and reflexes. However, a sharpened technique combined with power will be quite formidable."

"Sharpening, here."

"You're improving. Perhaps not on the finer points yet, but your reaction time and general skills are progressing quite nicely, especially factoring in your recent calling."

"Think I could take a couple mats home?" she asked. "I was gonna put them in the basement for sparring. Well, obviously not sparring, but practicing and stuff. Since Mom knows, I can at least work out at the house."

"It's quite all right. Do you want them now, or—"

"Nah, I'll get them after patrol, tie them to the top of the car or something."

He nodded, and they both went out into the store. Still somewhat exhausted, Giles left dealing with the customers to Willow, and went to do some less strenuous cataloguing himself.

Buffy hung out behind the counter as Willow stuffed charm bags with different talismans and gems that had just arrived. After a moment, she glanced to the table where Xander was sitting with Anya.

"Why is she still here?" Buffy whispered.

"I think she likes him." Willow grinned.

"She met him two days ago and she's barely let go."

"Yeah, it's like she commandeered him or something. But it's kinda cute."

A customer came up, and Willow stopped to ring up his purchases. A moment later, she turned back to Buffy. "Besides, I think he likes her. It's nice to see Xander happy. He hasn't had the best luck." She leaned in. "I've got this theory, that Xander is some sort of demon magnet. I mean, one of his girlfriends tried to eat him. Then there was this mummy girl, and the evil sacrament girl—"

"Hey! I know you two are talking about me over there," he called pleasantly. "Better come do it to my face."

Buffy smiled and followed Willow out to the front.

"Just saying how you're a demon magnet," Willow said.

"He is quite attractive," Anya said. She turned to him, appraisal in her eye. "Pleasingly shaped."

"Um, yeah?" Xander stammered.

"I'm pretty sure the others wanted to kill him," Willow said.

Anya nodded, looking back at Xander. "I could see the appeal for using you ritually."

"Um…"

"But once you eviscerate someone, that's it!" She threw her hands up. "No chance for anything satisfying. No, I like Xander intact. Besides, it's not like I have my powers anymore."

Giles paused from his bookshelf, turning toward the group. "And you've, er, given up on regaining said powers?"

"I suppose so. Nothing produced the desired results. After I lost my pendant, I did all types of incantations. I even considered temporal folds."

He frowned. "Aren't those rather dangerous and unpredictable?"

"Oh, yes. I couldn't find anyone to do one with me, though I could get the necessary ingredients between this store and ebay. You're woefully unequipped for the blacker of the arts here, by the way."

"Yes, there was rather a point to that, actually."

"Anyway," Anya continued, undaunted, "It was probably for the best. The last time I did a temporal fold, I had my powers, and Hallie was with me. And the wrong person still ended up dying. We started some war."

"Really, which one?" he asked, academic interest piqued.

"Oh, I don't know," she said with a dismissive wave. "It was centuries ago. Anyway, I've reconciled myself to being human. It was my own fault. That will teach me to put my career first. Personal safety is my new number one priority. It's much more difficult as a human, so it's been quite time consuming."

"Yeah," Willow offered. "Must be, um, an adjustment."

"Exactly! I see all these people in desperate need of vengeance, but no, can't help them anymore. And some of them used to come up with the best things—things even I wouldn't have thought of. Like Faith— I mean, I'm upset that I lost my powers, but I really wish I'd gotten to grant that wish. It was going to be an excellent wish, I could tell." She nodded sagely. "She was the inventive type."

"So why keep hanging around here all the time?" Xander asked.

"Well, at first I came to look for items to retrieve my pendant. But clearly, you people are the only ones that have any clue what goes on in this town. Even if your shelves are severely under stocked." She pointed to Buffy. "I mean, you've even got the Slayer here now. Definitely the right sort to put my cards in with. Speaking of which, shouldn't you be about to patrol? Keep us safe, go deadness for the vampires!"

Buffy bit back a smile. "So patrol, who's coming with?"

"Friday night patrol? I'm in," Xander said. "Will?"

"Sure."

He turned to Anya with a smile on his face. "Wanna come?"

"Oh, absolutely not."

* * *

Spike shadowed Buffy on an uneventful patrol, and then set out on a hunt of his own.

Sunnydale was not that large a town, so it shouldn't take him long to find her. He knew her haunts, knew her ways. Hopefully he could find her alone; he needed to talk to her, at least once.

After several hours of stalking through the town in search of Drusilla, he spotted her as he was coming out of a cemetery.

Only on the Hellmouth would there be a playground next to a cemetery.

She was walking through the deserted park in a long black dress, making a slow dance of it as she wove through the swings. She pulled at the chains as she passed, leaving them swaying in the night behind her. Slowly, in her own time, she came to where he waited.

Without pause or hesitation, Drusilla moved to kiss him full on the mouth, pressing her body up against his and pulling his head down to her. She kissed as she had twenty years ago, as though they were still lovers.

He didn't.

Dru stepped back and looked at him with a sad expression. But she didn't seem particularly surprised.

"You taste like ashes."

"Sorry, kitten."

"She's hovering, even now, floating all round in your head." Drusilla brought her hand up to his cheek. "My Spike's in love with the sunshine." Her expression shifted and she hissed, clawing at his face. "It burns, wicked and twisted. Get the sunshine out!"

Spike jerked back, catching her hands in his.

Subdued after a moment, she merely stood.

"Dru, listen to me, alright?" He pulled her along with him, leading her as he walked backward. She followed meekly; it was a dance they'd done many times before. "I want you out of here."

She said nothing, just scowled and looked at the ground.

"C'mon pet, you used to listen to me. Listen to me now. This Slayer's good. And she's gonna be better."

"Yes, you're seeing to that, aren't you, my lovely?"

"Look Dru, just go. Please, pet. Sod Angelus and get outta here. Think about your own skin for once."

"I wonder," she said, pulling one of her hands free.

"What?"

"If my skin is the same on the inside as the outside. White in the moonlight." She twisted her hand around in front of her face, mesmerized in the movement.

As she spoke, Spike realized it was futile. Dru had never taken charge, never been on her own for any extended period. Still, he continued. "You liked South America, yeah? Brazil? Colombia? I'll get you on a ship, a plane, whatever you want. I've got some cash, and I can get more. Just leave. Things here—sometime things are gonna go down."

She laughed, drawing away.

"You may like to play in the sunshine, but you're still my dark prince, Spike. Always mine, just a little piece. You won't hurt your princess."

Spike sucked his cheeks in. "No."

Drusilla smiled.

"But I won't stop her from it, either. She'll hurt you if you're here, pet."

"Where else would I be?" she asked, looking at the sky.

"Dru."

She wouldn't look back at him.

"Drusilla!"

He knew the conversation was over when she craned her neck to the stars. She could stand like that for hours sometimes.

She was still, except for a slight sway as she whispered to the night with her eyes closed. It was something he had seen a thousand times before, something he knew he would never see again.

He'd tried. Tried to get her to leave, to go—to go anywhere but here. Anywhere that she wouldn't be in the Slayer's path.

But once Dru got it in her head to do something, there was no persuading her. The only other possibility that he could see was if Angelus and Darla were taken out and he was able to send Dru on her way afterward. But it was unlikely that things would work out so neatly. Fights were unpredictable, and if she persisted in staying she'd most likely end up dust in the wind.

Spike watched her for almost a full ten minutes.

Then he turned and walked away without another word.

Exiting the park, he practically ran into teenaged couple who were heading in. They were whispering and hanging all over each other, obviously excited from escaping their houses after midnight. On instinct Spike appraised them in less than a second, registering that both were nervous and unaccustomed to being out late. Another time, a different day, he would have congratulated himself on his good luck. Easy prey delivered on a silver platter.

He would have killed the boy first, and then the girl as she was running and screaming. He didn't usually give them time for that, but they always ran and screamed if they saw it happen to another first.

He thought of Drusilla standing in the park, waiting.

"Go the other fucking way," he barked at them, pushing past. "Do you know what comes out at night?"

"Dude, watch it!"

Spike didn't respond, or look back. They could take his advice or not. It wasn't his problem.


	48. Shatters

Something had been off about Spike last night, Buffy decided. She hadn't seen him on patrol because Willow and Xander had been with her, but as he'd walked her back to the Magic Box to get her car, his mind had clearly been elsewhere, like he was waiting for something.

He'd been eerily quiet. Anxious, almost.

So not Spike.

Buffy left her house around noon, hours before she'd planned to be at the Magic Box. She didn't even bother coming up with an excuse to herself about why she was going by Spike's. She just was.

It turned out that she didn't need an explanation to give Spike, either. When he opened the door (after prolonged knocking on her part), he didn't even say anything, just leaned awkwardly against the frame. His shirt wasn't tucked in and he was barefoot; his hair was mussed.

Buffy stared at him.

Spike blinked against the sunlit sky behind her and then reached out like he was going to touch her.

He missed.

"You're drunk," she realized.

"Probly," he mumbled.

Spike turned from her and staggered back to the couch, falling on it heavily.

Buffy followed him in, shutting the door behind her. She eyed the assortment of bottles on the floor. "Did you drink _all_ of those?"

"Well I didn' pour 'em down the drain." He laughed.

"Since last night?"

He picked up a bottle, a stupid grin on his face. "'Cept for this 'un, yeah."

She glanced around again. "That's like…alcohol poisoning quantities. You should be dead." Buffy looked at him. "Never mind."

He threw the bottle down and slouched back, clumsily propping one of his feet up on a box. It was heavy cardboard, the kind that—she tilted her head, noting the logo—the kind that liquor stores got shipments in.

Buffy looked back at Spike.

She hadn't seen anyone this drunk since the welcome week parties at college, if then. Judging from the bottles, if he weren't a vampire he'd be in the hospital or something.

Spike was watching her, smiling at her with his tongue between his teeth, his head rolled to the side and resting on his shoulder. He snickered.

Buffy straightened up. "Okay, you need to sleep it off. C'mon, get up." She pushed his foot off the box and looped an arm around his middle, pulling him to stand and steering him into the bedroom.

She deposited Spike in the middle of the bed, bending over as she arranged him. Once she got him situated where his feet weren't hanging off the end, she leaned on the bed with one knee and stretched to the other side for a pillow.

Suddenly he reached up, cupping her cheek with his hand. "I'd choose you," he slurred.

Buffy froze. "What?"

She looked down at him.

"I'd hurt her. She said I wouldn' I said I wouldn'…but I would. You or her, an' I would."

"Spike, what are you talking about?"

"She wouldn' go."

"Who?"

His hand fell from her face, and she sank down on the edge of the bed, one arm still planted on the other side of him.

"Spike?"

"I tried but she wouldn' hear it. Anywhere I said, I'll get you there…" he trailed off. Then he looked back at her. "Drusilla," he responded, belatedly answering her question.

"You tried to get Drusilla to leave?"

"If she jus' woulda gone she could stay, y'know?"

"Not really."

Spike closed his eyes, rolling his head back. "I said my g'byes."

"You and Drusilla said goodbye?"

"No."

"Spike, you're not making sense."

He laughed, a half wheeze.

After a moment more, Buffy turned to move.

He jerked toward her, catching her arm. "Stay."

"You should…I…"

Despite the haze, he was looking at her almost pleadingly.

With need.

"Okay," she whispered. "For a little bit."

Buffy twisted around, propping the pillow against the wall as she leaned back.

Spike curled and rolled toward her, wrapping his arms around her torso and burying his face in her middle like a child. He said something, but it was faint and muffled by the fabric of her shirt.

It sounded like 'I'd choose you.'

She put her hand to his head. Moments later, he was unconscious.

And so went her plan of staying until he went to sleep. She couldn't leave so immediately, after she said she'd stay.

Fifteen or twenty minutes, and then she'd go.

.

.

Buffy must have fallen asleep herself, because when she next opened her eyes, it was much later in the day. There was only the faintest light seeping around the edges of the blanket tacked over the window.

She was also much farther down on the bed, now lying more than sitting. Spike was still wrapped around her, halfway in a fetal position.

She'd never seen him so—well, obviously she'd never seen him so drunk—but she'd never seen him so…vulnerable.

Something horrible must have happened with Drusilla.

It sounded like he had tried to get her to leave.

Buffy wasn't sure how she felt about that. She couldn't just go around offering every vampire that she ran across a chance to skip town. On the other hand, she herself hadn't. And while Buffy couldn't let Drusilla stay in Sunnydale to spare Spike, she supposed that if Dru had mysteriously disappeared, it wasn't like she was going to go hunt her down.

Buffy wasn't sure she could understand Spike's relationship with Drusilla. He had been in love with her and now he wasn't, that much she got. But she didn't have any concept of what it would be like to have been with someone for that long. And she wasn't touching the whole sire thing.

She was aware that Spike was in an uncomfortable situation. He'd said that he wouldn't be a direct part of killing Drusilla. And she couldn't ask him to be; honestly, she'd not expected him to react to the news about 'the Aurelians' as well as he had.

Of course, maybe all of that was out the window now. Spike's words, albeit drunken ones, echoed in her head. _I'd choose you…I'd hurt her…_

Buffy moved her arm slightly, which must have alerted Spike that she was awake, because she felt him stir and grasp at her.

"I have to patrol soon," she whispered.

"Later." His voice was heavy.

"Almost." She paused. "What happened?"

A silence. "Doesn' matter."

After another moment of silence, he sighed against her. "She wouldn' go, I said my g'byes," he repeated. Probably he didn't remember saying it in the first place.

By now, Buffy could hazard a guess at what had happened.

Spike had offered Dru an out—most likely pleaded with her to take it, to take herself out of Sunnydale and away from what would end up happening. For whatever reason, she had refused.

And then Buffy knew.

This was Spike making his peace with what was going to happen. Drinking himself stupid, yes, but severing whatever lingering ties he still had to Drusilla.

"I would," he said.

Buffy didn't point out that she hadn't said anything. "I've never seen you this drunk."

"Can only get tha' drunk over a woman."

"Uh-huh. Well, I'm glad you never got that drunk over me."

He laughed. "Drunker, worse like."

"What? When?"

"When you got all chosen."

She said nothing, and after a moment he continued.

"It shouldn't 've been you. Least tha's what I thought. I liked you, an' then you went an' turned into the Slayer."

Buffy suddenly wondered what Spike had thought, back then. A vampire who liked a human girl against his nature, who struggled with the idea of even having a relationship with her, only to have her become his natural enemy after he had done so. She'd been so wrapped up in the fact that she was having a weird time (hello, vampire?) that she had never considered that he might've been having one as well, for whatever reasons.

"Why was it worse?"

"I heard 'em, y'know, sayin' Slayer…but it wasn' you, it couldn' be you… An' then it was," he rambled. "Wanted to hate you, but I couldn'."

"Why was it worse?" she asked again.

He tightened his grip on her. "Cause you weren' there."

"I…I'm here now."

"All mine," he said. "'S Saturday," he suddenly mumbled.

Spike started to inch up her body.

"Whoa," Buffy said, stiffening. While she trusted him, she wasn't sure a drunk Spike near her neck was entirely a good idea.

"Jus' a little, 'll clear me right up."

He was already at her throat, halfway on top of her.

Buffy brought her hands up in alarm, started to push him off. "Spike, stop."

And he did. Just like that.

They lay frozen for a moment, her hands pressed against his shoulders, before Spike let his head fall on her chest. A second more and he rolled off her.

Buffy propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him. "Later, okay?"

"Yeah." He nodded.

She scooted to the edge of the bed and sat up. "I really do have to patrol."

"Right." Spike started to move.

Buffy pushed him back down with one hand. "Nuh-uh. The last thing I need is a wasted vampire following me around. I'll be fine for one patrol. I'll make sure Giles comes with me."

Spike stared at her for a moment, but seemed to accept it. He fell back on the bed. "You comin' back after?"

She paused. "Yeah. Sure."


	49. Steps

It was late when Buffy got done with patrol. She'd hung out at the Magic Box beforehand, since she had told Willow she'd meet her there that afternoon. She'd also trained some, and then she and Giles had made almost a full circuit around town. They had caught several fledges crawling out of their graves and several more hunting at the Bronze.

Not a bad night, vampire wise.

And now she was on her way back to Spike's to deal with her own vampire. A very drunk vampire.

Somehow, Buffy knew that she wasn't going to be going home that night. Which meant that she had to call her mother. She sighed and reached for her phone.

Fortunately for her, Joyce must have been taking a bath or already in bed, because the answering machine picked up.

"Hi, Mom. Um, I probably won't be home tonight. I'mstayingatSpike's. Call if you need me. So, um, see you tomorrow!"

Buffy stopped at the open-till-midnight sandwich place and got herself something to eat, munching as she walked and finishing as she tromped up the outside stairs. She didn't really expect Spike to be awake (or at any rate, coherent), so she tried the front door before knocking. She wasn't surprised to find it unlocked.

She was surprised, however, to find the lights bright, the TV on, and Spike lying on the couch and idly flipping through channels with the remote. His clothes looked clean and he must have taken a shower, because his hair was loose and curled instead of all slicked back.

Buffy just stared at him.

She shut the door behind her. "Okay, I know I wasn't gone that long. Six hours, maybe."

Spike took a sip from a bottle. "And?"

"Is that—?"

He held it up. "It's root beer."

"Uh-huh." She peered closer. It was a root beer. "That still doesn't explain why you're all…about."

"Vampire constitution, luv. Just needed some fluids to fix things up. And speakin' of fluids…" His eyes lingered on her neck.

Buffy wasn't convinced. She made a quick motion with her hand. "Come to me in a straight line."

"You've got to be bloody kiddin' me."

"No walky, no feedy." She crossed her arms.

Spike stood and walked across the room. "Look, I'm good. Yeah, I boozed it up last night. Might be a bit hung over still, and don't really wanna go toe-to-toe with somethin' right now, but my head's all clear. I was sleepin' it off, even before you showed up, and got some good shut-eye after."

He certainly didn't sound like he had earlier.

Spike turned off the TV and looked at her.

"All right," she finally said. "Do you want to now? In the bedroom?"

"Alright."

Buffy followed him in. She was beginning to regret leaving the message on the answering machine. Hopefully her mother hadn't heard it and she could erase it before morning.

Because if Spike was fine now, he wasn't going to ask her to stay. Not that she missed clingy, needy Spike. It was just that she had sort of been expecting him, that was all. Really.

She sat down on the bed and Spike shut the door behind her. The kitchen light had been left on, and it cast a halo around the crack of the bedroom door. Buffy shifted slightly, waiting for Spike to pull her to him, to arrange her how he wanted.

But after a moment, she was fairly positive that he wasn't anywhere near her. Buffy glanced uncertainly into the darkness. He was so damn quiet when he wanted to be.

"Spike?"

"Yeah."

He was to the right of her from the sound of it.

"Can we please not do the creepy vampire thing? Either sit down, or turn on the lights so I can see you."

"Sorry, pet."

The bed shifted under his weight. He ran his hand down her back almost hesitantly. Then both hands found her waist, gently tugging her toward the middle of the bed. She lay down as he eased her back.

Spike was still sitting up. She felt his hip against her stomach, felt the bed move as he placed an arm on the other side of her. He was leaning over, their positions switched from that afternoon.

His other hand ran under her chin, tilting it. Buffy waited for him to cover her, to take what he wanted from her.

He didn't move.

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you gonna?"

"In a minute."

Okay, that was just weird. He'd never not jumped right in when it came to her blood.

"Well, as long as we're just sitting here, let me ask you something. Would Slayer blood really have cured being drunk?"

He gave a half laugh. "Slayer blood'll cure just about anything, luv. Course, other blood does too, just takes more."

"Oh. So do you remember what happened earlier?"

"Meanin'?"

"You and me," she ventured. "When you wanted blood. You were completely out of it, but you stopped the second I told you to."

"So?"

"Why? I mean, I figured it would take more than that. Me saying something else, or getting up… But you just stopped."

There was a long pause.

"Spike?" Buffy whispered.

"You were afraid."

"What? No, I wasn't."

"I could smell it, luv," he said quietly.

Spike looked down at her, able to see her questioning face even in the near darkness.

It hadn't registered as a bad idea at the time—sinking his teeth into her when he couldn't walk straight. He'd only thought about the blood. But then the scent of her fear had washed over him like a cold shower.

"I'm always a little nervous," Buffy said. "I mean, you know, _the biting_."

"No. You were afraid. Fear, panic—call it whatever you want."

"Okay, for like a split second, maybe."

"Too long."

Buffy's eyes had adjusted and she could see the outline of his head now. "I wasn't worried that you meant to hurt me; I was worried that you could hurt me. But I wasn't going to let you."

"It doesn't matter." Spike's hand cupped her face.

Then his body moved over her, his weight slowly pressing down as he shifted his position. He rested his forehead against hers before sliding his face down to her neck.

She was still surprised when he didn't immediately bite her. His mouth paused and then moved to the other side of her throat. He started to kiss her, working way his around her neck, his lips methodically marking every inch of it.

A moment more and she felt him change, though he continued with what he was doing.

"Never be afraid of me," he breathed.

Even in game face he kissed her like she might break.

"I wasn't."

"You were," he said into her skin.

"You were out of it."

"It doesn't matter."

His attentions shifted slightly, his teeth scraping over her as he softly gnawed without breaking the skin. Like he was trying to prove something.

Buffy brought her hand up to the back of his head, pressing him to her. "Spike, it's okay."

He slid into her throat.

There was a sharp sting at first. The pinch, the prick of his fangs. Then it faded into a dull ache, the slow throb that she was becoming accustomed to. It wasn't so much a pain as an intense awareness of his presence.

Of course, there was no way Buffy could not be aware of a vampire biting her, but it was more than that. Every touch seemed heightened, every cell in her body alert to what was happening at her neck.

There was the pull, the sensation of her blood flowing into his mouth. She could feel it in every extremity as he took her into him, drop by drop. He wouldn't take too much, but her body was unaware of this fact. It rebelled against the vampire at her throat, her heart fighting to retain the life that he drew out of her.

Then there was the feeling of him on top of her—head gently bumping her jawbone, hands kneading into her shoulders, one leg winding between hers. His lips around her as he lapped and sucked. The soft noise of him swallowing her seemed to fill the dark room. Spike slowly moved as he drank, his chest pressing against hers bit by bit; more pressure, then slightly less pressure. His hands steadily rubbed and squeezed her upper arms, his thumb sometimes grazing a breast. And his mouth, locked to her without release.

It was a physical presence that wholly enveloped her. His complete possession of her.

And her absolute surrender to him.

It was a moment that happened again and again, unacknowledged in words but understood without them. Unspoken, but recognized bodily, physically. Everything about the situation of her payment should have been awkward, uncomfortable, but it never had been.

Spike's grasp on her lessened and his teeth slipped out of her neck. She felt his features shift, and once again he started kissing her, his lips gently touching over the holes he'd made. Caressing the spot he'd bitten her.

A minute more and he moved to rest his head on her shoulder. His breath tickled her drying skin, his still body draped over her like a blanket.

And silence reigned.

Ever since the day on the couch, she had known it wouldn't be as simple as 'bite, suck, repeat.'

And a part of her was glad it wasn't.


	50. Moments

_A/N: A huge thank you to everyone who has left reviews!

* * *

_

Spike was still on top of her, his skin warmed from her blood. They'd lain unmoving for minutes, without a word between them.

Though Buffy was fairly certain about what was pressing into her leg.

She thought she'd felt something last time, but she hadn't been sure. With him lying low on her to get access to her neck, they hadn't exactly been lined up. But now, with him on either side of her thigh, there was no doubt what was pushing into her.

Buffy twitched faintly.

He seemed to sense her question, and he moved slightly against her.

"Oh gross, Spike!" she said, pushing him partway off.

"Yeah?" His voice was quiet, but she could hear the leer in it. "You didn't think so the night I—"

"_Gross_ that you got turned on by the _blood_."

"You were all pressed up next to me."

Buffy glared at him in the darkness. She hoped he could see it.

"So it was mostly the blood," he admitted.

"Again, gross."

"_Vam_pire. And just your blood."

"Uh-huh."

Spike shifted closer to her.

"Just relax, would you?" he snapped as she started to lean away. He covered her chest halfway with his, placing his head just above her shoulder and nestling into her neck. Though he positioned his lower body so that she could no longer feel him.

"Fine." Buffy sighed. "But really, what is this? In the beginning, I thought you would just bite and go."

"And here I thought girls liked to cuddle after."

"After _what_?"

"Well, I had a good time. Blood, sex—sometimes it's all mixed together, luv."

Buffy was silent for a moment. Then, "When we had sex, you wanted to bite me. Like really bite me."

"Yeah."

"So…does any blood, you know, _do it_, or is it really just me?"

"If it's someone you want," he said quietly. Then he smirked—she could feel it—and said, "Course, doesn't hurt that you're the Slayer, either. Slayer blood's an aphrodisiac."

"Oh my God, is that true?" she squeaked.

"I'm gonna say yes."

Buffy couldn't find a reply to that, and they fell into silence. Spike was still twisted so that his face was buried in her neck, and something about the whole situation was annoying her.

At first she thought it was some Slayer thing going off because there was a vampire close to her neck for so long. Which really made no sense, because he'd _actually_ bitten her like three or four times.

But there was something unnerving about the way he had so enthusiastically settled in above her shoulder. And after all the talk about blood—honestly, it was like he liked her blood better than he liked her.

_Oh God, I'm jealous of my own blood._

Buffy rolled her eyes at the thought. But she gently pushed him off and moved down, curling to him and resting her head on his chest.

"Pet?"

"If you wanna cuddle, cuddle with me, not my neck," she finally said.

Spike said nothing, but his arms came up to encircle her.

"So why didn't you?" she asked after a moment. "Bite me? Back then."

"I didn't wanna hurt you," he said softly.

"But you want to hurt me now?"

"Stop puttin' words in my mouth. You know what I mean."

"Yeah," she admitted. Then, "I would have let you, you know."

"You let me now."

"That's different."

"You're right, luv, it is different. You had no idea what you were doin' back then, gettin' involved with a vamp. So yeah, I didn't bite you. And yeah, I wanted to."

Buffy paused. "Did you mean what you said, about getting drunk over me?"

"Yeah."

"Why? I mean, why did you?"

Spike was silent for a long moment before he spoke, as if collecting his words. Still, how he started surprised her.

"I didn't wanna hurt you. And I could have, luv, so quick." His voice darkened. "It would've been easy, simple. I thought I would, whether I wanted to or not. And I didn't want to. But I'd never…not hurt anyone before."

Buffy frowned. "You don't just mean sex bites."

"I mean hurt you, full stop. There's a reason vamps don't rack up human friends."

"Wesley—" she started.

"I saw him, what, once a month? Until you, anyway. And jobs are over quick, done. But lots of quality time, nice long-term relationships? It doesn't work. Someone ends up on the menu. So I stayed away."

"What changed?"

"The vamps in the alley," he said. "You were so afraid. Terrified of what they'd do to you. Your heart was racin' and you smelled so scared. I stopped 'em, of course. And you…you stopped being afraid the second you realized I was there. Before, I thought that I'd end up hurtin' you, but right then I knew I wouldn't, couldn't. I couldn't imagine makin' you so afraid. Never wanted to hear you say 'please' like that cause of somethin' I did to you. Couldn't stand it if your frightened eyes were lookin' at me. You felt safe with me, trusted me. Couldn't lose that, couldn't lose you."

Spike paused and exhaled slowly. "And then I had you," he whispered, his voice raw. "And it was perfect. And you were somethin' new and different and bright—somethin' I had to take care of. Somethin' not to hurt. Somethin' to hold. Somethin' precious to keep."

Buffy's breath caught in her throat at his words. _Precious to keep._

"And then you weren't." His voice hardened. "A day later, you were the Slayer. And everything that that meant. You were bloody untouchable."

"The good kind of untouchable or the bad kind?"

"Both. You were everything that I thought I'd lost, and everything I should hate."

"I was still me."

"Yeah, figured that out." He sighed. "But then—I thought it'd change you. You wouldn't be my Buffy, you'd be the Slayer. Other Slayers, well, they were all business. Nothin' but the fight, no room for anything else.

"I drank myself under the table. After a day or so, I sobered up enough to go the bar and drink some more. Then I thought if I saw you, the Slayer, I could stop wondering, stop wishing, and leave you and go on. So I followed you. But you were the same." He said it with amazement. "And I didn't know what to think. You know the rest."

Buffy was speechless. She knew that Spike had fought his attraction to her after she had become the Slayer, but she'd had no idea until tonight of the devastation he'd felt when she was called. When she had been playing Slayer with Wesley those first days, Spike had been miserable and/or unconscious.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?"

"I don't know."

Buffy almost wished she hadn't been called. Then she could have had the attentions of his words. Even though she knew deep down that it wasn't that simple, it was a nice dream.

"And how do you feel now?" she asked.

Spike's hand stroked her back. "I don't care that you're the Slayer. Yeah, things aren't the same, but it doesn't matter anymore."

Her breath paused a second time. Did that mean that he wanted her like he had, the way he talked about her before she was called?

"It's still the same," she said aloud.

"Yeah?" His tone was light, neutral.

"It's all the same, if you want it to be. You could still hurt me, if you wanted to. It would still be easy."

"And I still won't."

"You could still keep me safe."

"I will."

"You could still take care of me."

"Precious," he finished.

Spike pulled her closer and sighed into her hair. He held her to him with one arm, and his other hand came up to brush over her face. After a moment it trailed downward, slowly running up and down the length of her neck. His fingers ghosted over the small tears in her throat before rubbing a wide circle around them, careful not to touch the actual punctures.

"You were right," she said quietly. "It does hurt every time. I mean, just a little, but it does."

"Can't help it, pet."

"I know you can't. I know you're as careful as you can be."

"Never had much practice at being careful," he admitted.

The last thing Buffy wanted to do was think about the implications of that statement. But it was too late, her brain had already gone there. Of course Spike wouldn't care how much pain he caused someone he was killing.

Her mind involuntarily flashed to what she couldn't forget—seeing him kill. That was what had made her leave, what had turned _her_ away from _him_ during those days when he was crushed over her calling. That was what made his sweet words impossible.

She thought about telling him now—whispering how miserable her days had been, when she had been destroyed because of something he couldn't understand.

But that was the thing, Spike didn't understand. He had been satisfied with managing not to hurt her. He couldn't grasp that he'd hurt her every time he killed someone. Oh, he knew she didn't like it, but he failed to realize the depth of her despair at it. His first words to her in the alley were 'I'm not gonna hurt you.' It didn't occur to him that seeing another person die had made her sick, not frightened.

Spike didn't care. He didn't care about anyone but her. Which was fantastically flattering and devastatingly disturbing.

Buffy swallowed.

"Buffy?" Spike moved against her, running his hand down her back. "What is it?"

"I—do you like my blood better since I'm the Slayer?"

He paused, sensing that she had been about to say something else before she hesitated. But he answered. "It's still _your_ blood."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I like Slayer blood," he said flatly. "There's nothin' like it—the taste, the power." He paused, continuing in a softer tone. "But I liked your blood, the bit of it I had before. The fact that they're together now, that's just a bonus."

"What is it, about blood?"

"What?"

"What is it about my blood you like so much?"

"Are you serious?"

"Well, obviously vampire equals likes blood. So I know you like blood. Vampires eat blood. I mean, duh. But this is more than just blood, isn't it? More than getting the Slayer part even. I mean—" She was rambling and she knew it. "Never mind."

"Your blood's delicious, pet. Of course I want to taste it, have it."

"Forget it. I don't even know what I mean."

Spike said nothing, but shifted her so that she was lying on her back, her head resting on his shoulder and his arm wrapping around her body. His other hand lingered near her neck.

They fell into silence for several minutes.

Spike's hand idly played with the collar of her shirt, sometimes tracing it back and forth, sometimes slowly tapping his fingertips over her exposed skin.

Then he flattened his palm against her chest, fingers splaying under the fabric of her shirt and slipping over the edges of her bra as he brought his hand directly over her heart.

"Your blood is you," Spike whispered into her hair.

"What?" Whatever she had been expecting him to say, that wasn't it.

"Your blood," he said, "is you. I want you, and your blood is you."

Buffy was silent as she repeated his words in her head.

He said them again. "I want you." A pause. "And I get to taste you and take you. I hold you and I get all of you. You let me have you, have everything."

He described it like sex.

Buffy had known before tonight that giving him her blood was something almost as intimate as letting him put himself inside her. It was different, but it was still giving herself to him.

"You want my body," she ventured.

"Of course I do. But that's not it. If I had you every night, I'd still want your blood."

His voice was low and quiet, and while she had been able to feel it rumbling from his chest all evening, his words suddenly seemed to penetrate to her very core.

"When I drink your blood, I have every piece of you. You're mine and nothing else. When I taste you, the world stops. You give me all of you, and nothing exists but you. I could drown in your essence. Blood is life, and you let me wrap myself in yours. That's why I like your blood."

Buffy felt herself melting. No one had ever said anything like that to her. Ever. Well obviously not the blood part, but nothing came close to touching the significance of his words, the raw sentiment in his voice.

Her heart was racing and she had no idea what to say.

"I could hold you afterward for hours. Keep you while you sleep. While you're weak from what I've taken."

His fingers moved against the skin of her chest. Buffy shivered.

"You can hold me," she finally got out.

"Tonight."

"Later. You could later. Other times. I like it when you hold me. I—I like you."

He heard the falter in her voice.

"But it's not enough, is it, pet?"

"Now it is." Buffy blinked rapidly in the darkness and took a breath. "But it won't be later. It's not that simple."

"It could be."

"Could it?" she asked. _Hoped_. "This is nice and wonderful and—and the things you just said make me I don't know what—" She swallowed. "But, neither of us are going to change, are we?"

_Are you?_ she really asked.

"We could work somethin' out."

"There's no working," Buffy said, her voice wavering. "It's yes or no. Either no, you're never going to kill people again after this, or yes, you are. Which is it?"

Spike didn't answer, and she knew the answer.

"Yes."

He said it, and the moment that had already been breaking was shattered.

"I'm going to. I want to."

"You want to." Her voice was a hollow echo.

"This, now, is fine, but—"

"You don't want to do it forever."

"Can't do it forever, luv."

"You haven't killed anyone since you've been here, have you?"

"No."

"When's the last time you thought about it?"

"Last night."

Buffy closed her eyes and felt a tear run down her cheek.

"Buffy…"

"Don't. Not anymore. Not tonight." She sniffed. "Hold me while you can."

Spike obeyed, rolling onto his side to cradle her against his chest. He tucked her head under his chin and wrapped his arms around her, rocking her slowly. Buffy clutched at the fabric of his shirt, as if by seizing it she could capture something fleeting.


	51. Lines

Buffy woke up early the next morning, a result of her nap the previous day, she supposed. She rolled over in bed, reaching for Spike, but was unable to find him.

Opening her eyes fully, she realized that he wasn't there.

Buffy lay for a moment more before she crawled out of bed and went into the living room. Spike wasn't there, either. The kitchen was empty and the bathroom door was open. It was a little strange being in his apartment alone, but she shrugged. It's not like he wasn't coming back.

Buffy went into the bathroom herself.

After she washed her hands and straightened her slept-in clothes, she went back to the living room for her purse. First she looked at her cell phone, since Spike didn't seem to have a clock. It was 7:38.

Going back into the bathroom, Buffy washed her face with water and got the rest of her makeup off as best she could. Then she brushed her hair and applied some lip balm. Standing before the mirror, she tilted her head to look at the bruise on her neck.

In the beginning, it had honestly not occurred to her for him to bite her anywhere else. Vampires bit you on the neck. That was just how it happened. She and Spike had first done it standing up, and then sitting down. Lying down had inadvertently been the next step, and of course since they had settled on nighttime after patrol, lying down in a bed had followed.

She could change that, she supposed.

Buffy glanced down at her wrist. She flexed it back, making the veins more visible. There was a long blue one with several faint ones running beside it. Even though she knew that people died by slashing those veins, the thin ones just beneath the surface of her own skin didn't look like they would yield anything.

If she told him to bite her there, he would.

But something in her just couldn't stomach it. Holding her wrist, she felt the twin bones, felt the tendons that ran right down the middle. Logically she knew that her neck was much more fragile, but she just couldn't reconcile it. Besides which, if he bit her there, she wouldn't be able to look away. She would hate to watch, but she would have to watch, and something about watching would make it hurt worse.

Of course, there was also the option of doing it herself. Though she doubted that Spike would consider anything she drained as 'fresh from the source.' As well as the fact that she knew she couldn't do it. It was just too gross.

Buffy looked back in the mirror. Her real problem was that no matter how many ways she could think of to keep Spike at arm's length, so to speak, she knew she didn't want to.

Which was something she was not going to think about right now. She would wait until she got home and had time to decompress. Then she would think about it.

Buffy finished in the bathroom and found herself walking around Spike's apartment. It wasn't snooping, really—she wasn't opening drawers or anything.

The bathroom was small but tidy, though there wasn't enough counter space in her opinion, and the room didn't have good lighting. The tub had a set of glass doors instead of a curtain. Nothing of Spike's was out except for a single towel. It was clean, but a funny color of gray, looking like it had once been white but had been washed too many times with black jeans and red shirts.

In the bedroom there was nothing but a bed without a headboard and an old dresser, and in the floor she recognized the same beat up duffel bag that he had brought to her house before. On top of the dresser were several heavy silver rings, a few ten-dollar bills, and cigarettes. She played with one of the rings; it wouldn't even fit on her thumb. The closet had the expected clothes in it, and the bed had nothing but dark gray sheets and a picked-up navy blanket that had clearly seen better days. Another blanket was folded in half and pinned over the window.

The living room window actually had mini-blinds, though no curtains. Spike had also gotten a TV, and it sat on the kitchen table and was positioned toward the couch at an angle that made it impossible to watch unless you were lying down. Resting on the back of the couch was a thick green glass ashtray that looked like it had been stolen from a bar. He really needed a coffee table or something. Which brought her eyes to the liquor store box. It was no longer overturned, and Spike had actually cleaned up, piling all the empty bottles in it and setting it near the door.

Really, the place was clean. Maybe he just hadn't had time to get it dirty. Though Spike didn't seem to have much to get it dirty _with_. It barely looked like someone lived here. And the apartment itself was okay. The carpet was a little worn, but not horrible; the linoleum was curling a bit. There were some scuffs on the walls and marks on the cabinets, but nothing major. It was your average cheap apartment.

Moving to the kitchen, Buffy started opening cabinets. She really hoped he had food of some sort. But all she found were snack items, and not snacky breakfast items. Microwave popcorn, Flaming Hot Cheetos, Spicy Chex Mix, a can of those fried onion things her mom made casseroles with.

It was worse than bachelor quarters; it was vampire bachelor quarters.

She knew that he might have root beer, but she really didn't want a root beer right now. Maybe he had a Coke or something. Opening the fridge, Buffy was surprised to find alcohol that he hadn't consumed on his binge the day before. Cans of beer and one or two large bottles without labels. Not that that really helped her. Furthermore, she hadn't seen any glasses in the cabinets, which meant that if she wanted water, she'd have to drink it out of her hands.

Buffy was shutting the fridge when something in the door caught her eye. Stuffed in the side compartment was something dark in plastic. She frowned and reached out before realizing what it was.

Blood. Two or three bags of it.

Just then, the front door opened, and Spike came in. "Morning, pet. Didn't expect you up so early." He set a bag down on the table.

"What's this?" she asked, pointing to the blood.

"Blood."

"Where did you get it?"

"Hospital."

Buffy closed the fridge. "Are we down to one word answers?"

"It's blood. I got it from the hospital bank. Not much to say."

"You _stole_ it?"

"Well, they weren't handin' it out."

"People need this blood."

"So do I." He sat down at the table.

"For transfusions, I might point out, because of _vampires_."

"Nah, most vamps'll suck you dry."

He said it as a casual statement, not a horrible fact.

For a moment, Buffy simply stared at him. Then she crossed her arms. "Well, they still need it. For car accidents and gunshot wounds and, and…stabbings. They don't need it to—"

"Live?"

"Eat." She paused. "If you took more from me, could you get by without other blood?"

"You're not food," he snapped. "And I could _get by_ now. This is easier."

"Couldn't you like drink animal blood or something?"

"I'm not drinkin' cow or some rot like that."

"But it's stealing. It's wrong."

"What did you expect?"

"You know, I have no idea." She got the feeling that they weren't really fighting over the stolen blood.

"What do you think I was livin' on before? When I was keepin' your pert little self safe from all the nasty men?"

"Blood, I don't know. Oh God. Please don't tell me you were sneaking out of the house back then to go kill."

"Course not. Wouldn't really be doin' a good job if I was leaving, would I? No, your high and mighty Watcher himself hooked me up. Hospital fresh."

"Oh, right." She remembered Fred bringing Spike's food each day. "You know, I never got the whole story, anyway, on the 'nasty men.'"

"Dunno, luv. I was just the hired help."

"Well, you're going to be here for longer than two weeks. That's a lot more blood." She paused. "What if I told you to stop taking it?"

"Then I'd tell you that this has nothin' to do with Slaying, so it's got nothin' to do with what you have say over. And I haven't killed anyone, so I'm keepin' my end."

"I didn't think about this."

"Well, that's your problem. All terms are final."

Buffy threw her hands up. "Stop being so—"

"Businesslike?"

"Infuriating. What would you have done if I had thought about it?"

"Dunno. But you didn't."

"Well, I don't like it."

"Sorry." He didn't sound sorry.

She stared down at him a moment more. He stared back, expression neutral but uncompromising.

Buffy sighed, sinking into the other chair. Pathetic to be arguing over bagged blood, really, especially after last night. And on the scale of vampire evilness, stealing was pretty far down on the ladder.

"How much do you take? Need?"

"Not that much. Few bags a week, though I cleaned out what I had last night."

She frowned and then realized what he meant. "Blood to cure a hangover."

"It took a bit. But yeah."

"Fine," she said flatly. "Just stay away from the rare types. And no more getting drunk," she added. "Whatever you take needs to last."

There was a moment of silence. She looked at the table. "So where did you go?"

"Got you breakfast," Spike said, his tone immediately changing. He opened the brown paper bag and pulled out two bottles of juice and a box containing half a dozen doughnuts.

Buffy started to eat and was soon on her third doughnut. Another time, she would have taken one, and definitely not had more than two, but she was no longer worried about her figure. And while the bathroom scale actually read her as gaining weight, her jeans no longer fit as snugly as they had. She was getting leaner, getting more muscle.

It wasn't something she was too terribly upset about, besides the fact that she might have to invest in a new wardrobe if it kept up. And it definitely had its perks. One being more doughnuts for Buffy. Or ice cream, or chocolate, or anything else she might care to indulge herself in.

Spike was also eating a doughnut, and Buffy paused for a moment. "Do all vampires eat food?" she asked.

"Some do. Most don't," he said. "It's not like it helps us, and most of it tastes wrong. I still like spicy stuff." He shrugged. "Sweet stuff sometimes."

Buffy took a swig of orange juice and picked up another doughnut.

"I'm sorry about Dru," she said after a moment.

"I don't wanna talk about it. It's done."

"Fine."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Thank you for the doughnuts."

"I can pick up some more food. Stuff you like, yeah? So you're not starvin' when you're over here."

"Will I? Be over here?"

"If you want to be."

"Why?" she asked.

"Why what, pet?"

"Why would you want me over here, after—"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because. What would we do, anyway?"

She expected Spike to leer at her, to suggest what they could do together at his apartment. So when he spoke, she was thrown.

"Whatever you want. Anything you want," he said. His eyes were so intense. "I could hold you. We could watch the telly while I hold you, lie in the dark while I hold you."

"Why?" she whispered.

"I meant everything I said about you last night, Buffy."

Buffy swallowed. "I should go," she said. "I need some—I need to think."

"Alright."

"There's a New Year's party at the Bronze tonight. I'm not inviting you as a couple," she clarified, "but I suppose I'll see you there."

He nodded.

A moment later she grabbed her purse and was gone.

* * *

Buffy walked back to her house, enjoying the early morning sun and cool air. Standing on the front porch, she carefully arranged her hair before sliding the key into the lock and opening the door.

The smell of coffee hit her as she entered, and she found her mother in the kitchen reading the paper.

"Hi, Mom." She tried to sound nonchalant.

"I got your message," Joyce said neutrally, taking a sip from her cup. "How was your night?"

"What happened to me being a grown girl?" Buffy blurted. "If I was living in the dorms, you wouldn't know where I was. I could have lied, I guess, said I was at Willow's. Is that what you want? Me lying to you? What happened to making my own de—"

"Buffy, calm down. I'm not upset."

"Oh. Well. It was fine, then."

"I'm just teasing you a little. Embarrassing a daughter is a mom's right."

"What, just because of that whole nine hours of labor thing?"

"Exactly. So how is Spike?"

"He's fine. Anyway, it wasn't like that. He was really drunk. Not that he's a drunk," she quickly added. "It's just, he ran into his old girlfriend last night, and it really messed with him."

"Oh, that's too bad." Joyce's face shifted. "Is he all right?"

"He'll be fine."

"Was she the one who dumped him?"

Buffy just stared at her mother. "Huh? What?"

"Oh, one afternoon at the house in L.A. we were talking and I asked him if there was anyone in his life. He said that there hadn't been for a long time. There was some girl he'd been with for years until she left him for someone else."

"Yeah. Um, it was a while ago, but it was…more than unpleasant seeing her. Anyway…"

"You want some breakfast, honey?"

"I already had some. Spike got up early and bought me doughnuts."

"Oh, that was sweet."

"Yeah. It was."

"I know I haven't been around him much, but it sounds like he really likes you, Buffy."

"Yeah. He does," she echoed.

If only it were that simple.


	52. Reflections

Buffy took a shower after lunch. She was sitting on her bed in her underwear and putting on some lotion when her phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Buffy! It's been forever!"

She placed the voice immediately. "Cordelia?"

"Duh! Who else?"

"What's all that noise?"

"Turbulence. I'm coming back from Switzerland. We wanted to stay through New Year's, but the lodge wasn't available."

Buffy suddenly remembered that Cordelia got bored to death on plane and always used her hours to catch up on phone time.

"So what's new with you? How's life in the burbs?"

"I'm adjusting. We got the house all settled in. I got registered at the college. Though the town is small enough I don't need my car half the time."

"God, I couldn't live that far away from shoe stores."

"I think I'll survive. So how was your trip?"

"I met this fabulous ski instructor! I know, so cliché, but you should have seen him. Tall, blond, killer thighs. I took lessons all day long!"

"Are you still with Justin?"

"Please, he was so last month. I'm seeing David now—you know David, Mr. Wilson the banker's son? And ohmygod, Harmony made a complete idiot out of herself at the last party we had. She was all over this guy, introducing herself and flirting. He kept looking at her funny, and finally he said something. Turns out that she slept with him last year, and she _didn't even remember_!"

Buffy listened as Cordelia caught her up with local gossip, and she chatted about her own life in Sunnydale, steering around the Slayer bits.

She wasn't really surprised at not hearing from Cordelia before this. Or that she hadn't picked up the phone to call her. She and Cordy had been more 'let's go do things' friends, rather than 'let's talk about things' friends. Even before this, they would fall out of touch during school vacations, particularly if one of them were out of town.

But there was also something supremely relaxing about talking to Cordelia again. It was like getting a piece of her old life back. She could just gossip and unwind, and not have to think about anything stressful.

"So the lodge was booked, but Mom and I decided that that was all right, because if we went ahead and left, we could make it to New York before the ball in Times Square drops."

"Well, thank you for outshining my evening." Buffy laughed. "We're having a little New Year's thing at the local club. So not glamorous."

"At least you'll be warm. I had to buy a whole new wardrobe, you know."

"Yeah? Well, I'll have to buy one soon. I'm getting skinnier," she bragged.

"That is so not fair! Speaking of not fair, is your love life any better than mine? Any hotties in Sunnydale?"

Buffy paused. Then she decided to go with it. Cordelia didn't know the half of it, but she had already met him. "Actually, I saw Spike again."

"The drool-worthy bodyguard? I officially hate you right now."

"What about your ski instructor?"

"Well, I didn't get to 'see' anything, if you know what I mean. Have you?" she asked slyly.

Buffy didn't immediately answer.

"Oh, that's a yes! I knew it! I bet he's got a real nice—"

"Okay, we are so not going there."

"But you _have_ gone there. Please tell me he's good in bed, or I'll be severely disappointed."

"Well, I wasn't disappointed." Then Buffy quickly added, "Not that I've got like tons to base it on, but it would be pretty hard to beat. And that's all you're getting out of me."

"So where is he living?"

"Here. He's got an apartment."

"He _moved_ when you did? Oh, he's got it bad. Reel him in whenever you want."

"Though he has no decorating sense."

"Do they ever?" Cordelia asked. "So, what about all the complicated?"

"Well, it sort of is. But…I'll figure it out somehow."

"You never told me what that was all about, you know. He's not a drug dealer, is he?"

"No! Nothing like that!" _Something much worse than that_. "Anyway, it's weird right now because his ex-girlfriend is in town and she keeps showing up."

"God, I hate ex-girlfriends. And they're always crazy."

"Totally."

"Ugh. We're getting ready to land. You so should have told me this at the beginning. Anyway, we'll have to get moving, so talk to you later."

After exchanging a few more words, they both hung up.

Buffy flopped back on her bed, dropping the phone to the floor. Pleasant and distracting as that had been, she couldn't put off thinking about things anymore.

She could play like she had a normal life with Cordelia, but not with herself.

Oh, she knew that there was no definition of 'normal.' Daytime talk shows assured her that normal didn't exist. However, she was also fairly certain that most people's concept of normal, whatever it was, in no way resembled her life.

Things were complicated. Things being Spike.

There was no way for things with Spike to be uncomplicated.

Buffy had thought, at first, that she would be able to keep things separate. That whatever she and Spike had had in L.A. would stay in L.A.

She had clearly been an idiot.

Spike had said that she was stuck in him; there was no reason to assume she would become 'unstuck' simply because of a change in location. And while she had been somewhat banking on his obsessive concern for her safety, she'd made the agreement because there was no one better, no one else who could possibly do what she needed.

Buffy had known that Spike felt something for her, but she hadn't intended to manipulate him emotionally. She'd been upfront and blunt from the beginning that there was nothing personal involved in this.

Yes, she had offered up something she knew that as a vampire he couldn't help but want, but she hadn't played on any connection between them. She'd actually asked for clarification on his feelings toward her before she'd proposed her deal.

But she had known, deep down, that it wouldn't be as straightforward as just business. What Buffy hadn't known, however, was what she herself would start to feel again.

A door was slowly opening, a door that had been brutally slammed shut the night she'd seen him kill the girl in the alley.

Whatever she had been feeling for him was ripped out from underneath her in an instant. Nothing else mattered but _that_.

She'd almost welcomed being called. Strange and unwanted though it was, it was something to do, something else to focus on so that she didn't have to keep replaying that picture in her head. What she had told Wesley afterward was true enough. She didn't want to fight Spike; she was indebted to him. She was attached to him and confused by him; she was horrified and heartbroken. And she didn't want to see him again, for any reason.

Spike hadn't given her that option, however, what with his showing up everywhere all the time. She'd become used to his presence with a sort of accepting annoyance. He had just been there, snarky and stalky. Buffy had tolerated him, even talked to him, but she couldn't feel anything when she looked at him. And she hadn't wanted to.

Then she'd gotten the rude wakeup call the night she had almost died. The night Spike had gone ballistic on the vampire who had had her down. The night he had attacked her the same way until she'd been able to fend him off.

And a brilliantly insane plan had formed in her head.

And so here they were.

Close once again.

Buffy rolled over on the bed, folding her hands under her chin. Things had happened so gradually that she hadn't even realized it. It was so easy to fall back to something else, something they'd had before everything. And she was, she was falling.

It wasn't that she thought things were what they weren't. Since Spike had agreed not to kill, she had perhaps pushed it out of her head slightly, but she hadn't forgotten. She had never allowed herself to forget.

And that was the problem.

She knew exactly what Spike was and she was falling for him anyway.

He was more than just a vampire. He was…well, Spike. Spike who she had known before she knew anything else about him.

Things had been so much simpler then. When he had just been keeping her safe. When by necessity they'd been spending most of the day together—driving to class, watching TV, eating in her kitchen. How easy it had been when they'd danced, or gone for a ride on his bike.

Though as Buffy herself had pointed out the night before, things were eerily the same. He was still keeping her safe. And come to think of it, they had danced and gone for a bike ride just last week.

It felt so natural to be with him, whatever they were doing. It felt right. Real.

She wasn't the only one who thought so. The things that Spike had said to her last night—

To begin with, the way he had described their one night together.

Spike had wanted nothing more than to be with her, to hold her and treasure her. He had felt something for her that he hadn't felt for anyone. She was something he'd just discovered.

It wasn't something she had fully understood at the time, how unusual she was for him. She hadn't known that what they'd had was uncharted territory for Spike—something he didn't think he could have with her. Something he'd been afraid he would break.

Though she remembered how determined he had been not to hurt her, not to bite her that night. He'd wanted to keep her safe from everything, himself included. As they'd lain together afterwards, she'd never felt more cherished.

Until she'd been wrapped in his arms, listening to him talk about it. Talk about _her_, in a voice that was just a whisper as he told her how he'd felt. And how he'd thought he lost her. And how he should feel differently about her since she was the Slayer, but how it didn't matter anymore.

Buffy had been stunned, earlier, when Spike had said that he would choose her over Drusilla. Especially since in the beginning, he'd told her that he might try to stop her if she was about to stake Dru.

Even though he had been drunk and might not have said it otherwise, she'd known in that instant that things had irrevocably changed.

And the way Spike talked about her now—

He wanted her. Not sex, not just her body, but _her_.

Though she hadn't exactly expected how he'd described drinking her blood.

Buffy shifted her position, putting a hand to her neck. As things had progressed between them, she had become aware that there was more to the moment than him wanting Slayer blood (which he no doubt did), more to it even than him getting up close and personal with her. But in a strange way, she hadn't minded. It was something, something she had with him that was slightly unexplainable.

However, she hadn't realized the depth of it on his end until last night.

_—your blood is you—_

He desired her blood because it was part of her. She remembered that Spike had wanted to taste her just as desperately after they'd been together, before she was ever the Slayer. It was a different kind of intimate connection. To a vampire, her blood was another part of her to know. The blood she gave him now hadn't become a substitute for something he couldn't have; it was something he wanted anyway because he wanted her.

If she didn't want him as well, that perhaps would have had her offering up her arm instead.

The way they did it, she gave everything to him.

_—you're mine and nothing else—_

She realized now that when she offered her blood, she offered every piece of herself. And he became lost in it.

_—when I taste you, the world stops—_

And so did she.

Funny how she could almost believe that everything was going to be okay, that it would all somehow turn out fine, even when he had his fangs in her throat. There couldn't have been a more vampire-like thing to be doing, and yet she felt perfectly comfortable with it. Comfortable with him, even while intimately knowing what he was.

She had never pretended that he wasn't what he was. Instead, she had wished. Wished that things could go on so easily between them.

No matter how Buffy had tried to keep her guard up in the beginning, there was something so disarming about Spike. The way they were bantering and laughing, even as they argued about Angelus and Drusilla on that first day that Spike had come to Sunnydale. After almost a month of not seeing him, her anger and her hurt had cooled, and she had been prepared to deal with him in the light of their agreement.

Except that the more time she spent with him, the more she started to remember what she had liked about him in the first place.

But she never forgot.

Even as he was saying things that made her want to curl up in his arms forever, she couldn't forget. Blood was life, and vampires needed blood to survive.

But there was more to it than blood. She had realized that even more fully after her offer of more blood this morning, when Spike had snapped that she wasn't food to him. He didn't just want blood; he wanted to kill. Some part of him needed that, and while he could put it on hold, he didn't want to do it forever, didn't even think that he could.

Buffy had hoped so desperately last night when she asked if either one of them—he—would change, hoped and wished that he would say what she wanted to hear.

He hadn't.

And she was _not_ going to cry again just thinking about it. Buffy hopped up from the bed and went to her closet in search of something to wear. But she found herself staring blankly at the clothes as her thoughts drifted right back to where they'd been. Spike.

Of course he still wanted to do vampire things. He was a vampire. Some ridiculous part of her asked her why she thought he wouldn't, why she thought he would stop just because she asked him to.

She wished she could be enough for him.

Some dark part of her mind wished that his devotion could be enough for her.

But Buffy knew it couldn't. As much as she would want to stay, as much as she would want to be with him, she couldn't. She wouldn't be able to be around him. Even if it tore her heart out to leave him, she would have to. If he started killing, it wouldn't matter.

Not that she was particularly trying to take some high moral stand for the sake of being good. It was simply that she'd feel sick watching TV with him after he'd been out doing some casual murder. Simply that she might retch as he kissed her if she had to wonder whose life had ended on his lips that night.

Unless something changed drastically, she was going to leave him after all was said and done. Killing him wasn't a possibility (if she even _could_ kill him, which was an entirely different story); sending him away was the best that she could do. She would leave him and he would leave.

Buffy swallowed as she realized the path she'd just laid out for herself. She was going to get her heart broken. She felt it even now, what it would do to her.

If she were sensible, she would distance herself now, cut herself off from him as much as possible to make it easier in the future. But she knew she wasn't going to.

It was all going to come crashing down eventually. There was no reason she couldn't enjoy the now. No reason to deny herself what she would wish she could recapture later. She didn't want to regret the time they had together. She wanted to be with him, be near him, whether it was completely a good idea or not.

And it probably wasn't.

Buffy didn't see a happy ending, but right now she didn't care.

She wasn't going to pretend, but she decided that she also wasn't going to dwell on the inevitable.


	53. Stances

Buffy arrived at the Magic Box after hours and tapped on the door until Willow opened it.

"You ready to go?"

"Yep," Willow said. "Let me get my bag."

Giles was sitting at the back and hadn't looked up so far.

"Earth to Giles," Buffy said, walking toward the table.

"Yes?" He glanced up from his books. "Ah, Buffy. Good. I may have made some progress on your prophecy."

"I have a prophecy now?"

"Possibly. I've been looking into your late calling. There's a reference to a Slayer who will be called in her twentieth year."

"Giles, I'm not twenty."

"No, but this writing is quite old."

"And this matters because?"

"Many cultures had other methods for measuring time," he said. "One of the most common variations to our own system was assigning a baby the number one upon its birth. Meaning that one is the age of one during one's first year. Accounting forward, in a way."

"Say huh?"

"Put one way, you have lived a full nineteen years on the planet, and you are currently in the middle of your twentieth year of existence."

"I get it," Willow said. "Like when kids always say eight-and-a-_half_, cause they want to be older than eight. I guess they kinda are, technically."

"Okaaay, sort of making sense. So, what else about this twenty year Slayer?"

"Er, nothing yet," Giles said. "I've only found the one mention."

"So we don't even know if it's me."

"Well, no. But there's been no record of a Slayer being called as late as you have been, so there's every chance that it is."

"So, what sort of prophecy are we expecting here?" Buffy asked.

"I don't know. It could be something simple, or…something not so simple."

"Wonderful."

"But you shouldn't worry about it," Giles continued. "Let me do more research and see what I can uncover."

"Uh-huh. Well, if you say so."

"Sure you don't wanna come to the Bronze, Giles?" Willow asked.

"Quite. I shall enjoy the end of the year in peace."

"Your loss." Buffy smiled. She turned to Willow. "Let's go?"

"Let's go."

* * *

The Bronze was rather packed. It seemed that there wasn't much to do in Sunnydale on New Year's Eve. There was a band on stage, and the TV on the wall was turned to the typical countdown coverage.

The others were already there and had managed to snag a table, even holding on to the empty chairs for Buffy and Willow.

Willow slid in next to Oz, placing a kiss on his cheek.

Anya stood up as Buffy walked over. "I saved your chair," she informed her.

"But now you don't have one. I can't be the chair stealer."

"Oh, but I have Xander to sit on," Anya said, planting herself on his lap. "I was sitting on him earlier, before someone tried to run off with the chair." She glanced at Xander. "He's very comfortable."

Xander grinned, but extracted himself out from under her after a moment. "Hold that thought. I'll go get the drinks for everyone."

"I like it when he buys me things," she said happily, watching as he disappeared in the direction of the bar.

As the evening wore on, they eventually abandoned the table, moving toward the center of the club as things progressed. Xander and Anya danced, Willow and Oz danced, and Buffy dusted some vampires in the back who thought that tonight would be easy pickings.

Spike was here, somewhere. She could feel him, but she hadn't looked for him.

He hadn't looked for her, either.

It was Willow who spotted him, as she and Buffy were standing together while Xander and Anya were occupied and Oz was helping a guy in the band rig up some cords.

"Hey Buffy?"

"Huh?"

"That guy over there playing pool?"

Buffy glanced over her shoulder, and there he was.

"That's the guy you know, right?"

"Um, yeah."

Spike looked at her and grinned.

"You should go say hi," Willow encouraged.

"He knows I'm here." Buffy turned back around.

"You have a fight?"

"Sort of. I'll talk to him later."

It wasn't too long after that that the countdown began. When the clock struck twelve, the crowd cheered and shook the noisemakers someone had given out. There was actually confetti falling over the stage and the dance floor.

Buffy looked away as Willow and Oz shared a sweet kiss, and as Anya practically attacked Xander. She could _feel_ Spike's eyes boring into the back of her head from across the room.

But he was giving her space, she realized—waiting for her to approach him. She was the one who had said she needed time to think, and he was giving it to her.

An hour later, things were winding down, and Xander and Anya were the first to leave.

Willow started gathering up her things afterward. "You want to walk with us, Buffy?"

"You and Oz go ahead."

Willow looked in the direction of the pool tables.

"Yeah," Buffy said.

"See you tomorrow?"

"Sure."

A moment later, she walked over to where Spike was playing against some guy about her age. A guy who was looking increasingly put off and sullen at each ball Spike pocketed. They must be playing for money.

"Are you cheating?" she blurted.

Spike smiled at her. "Don't need to cheat. I'm just that good, pet."

"I'm sure."

"Play pool for enough years, you get good."

She hadn't considered that. But as Buffy watched him effortlessly line up a shot, she realized that among other things, Spike was a pool shark.

"Sometimes I cheat a poker," he said. "Just to keep it interesting."

"Why?"

"For fun. And money." He walked around the pool table. "You're not exactly payin' me in usable funds," he said in a low voice as he passed.

He made another shot.

"Please tell me you haven't spent all the money Mom and Dad paid you."

"Course not. But no reason to be using it when I can make some on the side. And I am payin' rent on two places."

If he thought she was going to comment on that—she was so not going to start the 'what happens later' talk again. "So is this what you do all day? Or night? Play pool and poker?"

"Gotta do somethin' when I'm not with you."

"So is it day or night? When do you sleep, anyway?"

"During the day is easiest. But I can sleep whenever."

He missed a shot on purpose and came to stand beside her.

"So what did you do all day today? After I left?"

Spike twirled the pool cue around once. "Went out. Got into a bar fight."

"Are you serious? Where at?"

"Place out on the highway."

Buffy narrowed her eyes. "Did you start it?"

"I didn't avoid it."

"You started it." She crossed her arms.

"Oh, what do you care? Gotta make my own fun. Not like I killed anyone."

The boy trying to make a shot looked decidedly uncomfortable.

Spike smirked.

"Beating up drunk bikers is fun?" she asked, biting back a smile. As much as she wanted to disapprove, there was something comical and strangely fitting about Spike driving out to some bar and starting a fight for the sheer hell of it.

"I was bored. Fights are fun."

The kid missed, and Spike quickly finished off the game, grinning as the guy grudgingly slapped his money on the table and walked away.

There was also something almost cute about him winning at pool.

"A hundred years of playing is not exactly fair," she said under her breath.

Spike pocketed the cash. "Not my problem."

"And people haven't figured out not to play with you?"

"What can I say? College boys are idiots."

"Won't argue there."

Spike's phone suddenly rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket. His tone immediately went flat as he answered. "Yeah?"

After a moment, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Sounds like fun. But I won't be able to." A pause. "No, nothin' personal. Just outta town for a while." Another pause. "Got a conflictin' agreement." He fell silent again, before he glanced in her direction. "Indefinitely."

Something about the way he said that, the way his eyes froze on her as he pronounced that last word, made her heart skip a beat.

He hung up.

"Was that Wesley?" Buffy asked.

"No."

It hadn't really sounded like it, but she had to ask. "So what did they want you to do?"

"Do you really wanna know?"

"On second thought, no."

Spike turned to put the pool cue back on the wall. "I won't be hearin' from the Watcher again. Ruined a perfectly good arrangement, you did."

"What? What did I do?"

"Don't think he was crazy about me followin' his new Slayer around." He leaned against the empty pool table.

Buffy did the same. "So not my fault."

"We also had words."

"About what?"

"You."

Buffy raised an eyebrow, questioning him further.

"He said some stuff."

She laughed. "And you, what, had to defend my honor?"

"No." Spike looked at her. "He said I was playing games, deciding whether I wanted to kill you or not." His look darkened. "Told him I could kill _him_."

Buffy paused. "That was that night, wasn't it? The night you beat up the vampire who had me down, the night I made the deal with you. You didn't see Wesley after that."

"Yeah."

"He was kind of weird when he came back to the office."

"I didn't, you know."

"Kill him? Well, obviously."

"No," he said. "I never thought about killing you. Even if you were the Slayer. Yeah, I didn't know what I wanted, but I could never have killed you."

"I know."

"Did you? We weren't exactly talking. Surprised the Watcher didn't have you all convinced and ready to go."

"Please, he didn't want me anywhere near you. He basically said to let you do whatever you wanted, for me not to push it, as long as you were interested in being nice." Buffy paused. "I think he was really afraid you'd kill me. That you would eventually get bored with following me and make up your mind to fight. I told him you wouldn't," she said. "But he never saw."

"Saw what, pet?"

"I mean, it did make sense. Slayers were sort of your thing, right?"

"Yeah," he said softly, leaning in. "But not you."

"I know."

Spike tilted his head at her. "The Watcher never saw what?"

"He never saw the way you looked at me. I knew because of how you looked at me."

"And how's that?" he breathed.

"Almost how you're looking at me now," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"You could never kill someone who you looked at like that."

His hand ghosted over her hair. "Never…"

For a minute they were frozen. There was a moment when they could have kissed, before Buffy looked down.

Though she didn't move away.

"And the other way 'round?" he asked. "You think about killin' me?"

"At first I thought I _should_—Slayer duty and all. But I never wanted to."

"What did you want?"

"I wanted you to go away."

"Good thing that I didn't." He smirked.

"I suppose, looking back. But then, I so was angry at you. And I felt betrayed and hurt and I so do not want to have this conversation again right now."

Buffy pushed away from the pool table.

"What do you want now?" Spike asked.

"I just want…to be. Whatever happens later, can't we just be right now?"

He moved to stand beside her. "We can."

"I know it's probably a phenomenally bad idea. But I don't care. We can have now, and we'll deal with later…later."

"Yeah." Spike ran his hand down her back.

Then he slowly, almost cautiously, pulled her to him. Buffy leaned into it and she felt him relax against her after a moment.

"Ready to go, luv?"

"Yeah."

His arm remained around her shoulders as they walked out together.


	54. Advances

"You are dead, aren't you?"

"Couldn't haunt you if I wasn't dead, B."

"But are you really you? Or are you some dream thing?"

"Hmm, I dunno. I feel like me. Yeah, I'm me."

"Uh-huh."

"I gotta say, you've got the right idea. You're the Slayer, life's a bitch. Do it."

"Do what?"

"Whatever you want. But vamps are tricky, y'know?" she continued. "One day you're having a perfectly good fuck, the next they're killing your boss. Then they're torturing you for months before they decide to end it, holding you down and putting a—"

"Whoa! TMI! A world of TMI."

Faith shrugged. "Thought you might like a few gory details. Let you know what to expect."

"That won't happen to me."

"One wrong move and he'll have you. But you already thought of that, didn't you?" She grinned. "So. How's _your_ vampire?"

"You know what? I'm waking up now."

Buffy awoke to a scraping noise, which she realized was the window.

Spike closed it as he turned toward the bed.

"You're a vampire," she said.

He eyed her curiously. "Yeah…"

"Faith knows you're a vampire."

"The dead Slayer?"

Buffy nodded.

"So? What's she gonna do, tell all her dead mates?"

She propped herself up on her elbows. "Spike, she's haunting me."

"Like the house?" He peered at the ceiling.

"Like my dreams."

"What'd she say?"

"To do whatever I wanted."

"Sounds good so far."

"And not to trust vampires."

"She's got a point," he said agreeably, sitting down on the bed.

"You are so not helping." Buffy sat up, scooting next to him. "She started to tell me exactly what Angelus did to her. Then she asked me about my vampire."

"_Not_ your vampire," Spike muttered.

"Spike! This is serious!"

"Sorry, luv, but I think dreams featurin' a dead chick are not your biggest concern."

"I guess," she said. "It's almost like she's messing with me."

"There you go."

Buffy leaned against him. "We do have a door, you know," she said after a moment.

"Your mum's not home. I come in the window, or I pick the lock. Your choice."

"Or you could knock until I open the door. Or call me and tell me you're down there."

"That's no fun."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Fine. Window. I suppose breaking and entering looks worse."

"You could always give me a key," he said, smirking.

"I'm sure my mother would _love_ that." She rolled her eyes. "Besides, I don't even have a key to your place."

"You want one?" Spike turned to look at her.

"What?" she whispered.

He petted the side of her head. "I do have two keys. No reason you shouldn't have one."

"I…um…" Despite everything else she and Spike had done, said, and arranged, there was something so official about a key. She'd never had a key to someone's apartment before. Of course, no one had offered one to her, either.

He seemed amused by her indecision. "No need to get so jumpy, luv."

"I'm not jumpy. There's no jumping. It's just a thing. It's a whole big thing."

"Buffy, it's a key. Nothin' has to change."

"Right. It's just a key. So, um, did you come by to give me a key?"

"No. I came by to take you shopping."

"For what?"

"Said I'd get some food you like, didn't I?"

Buffy was touched. "Anything's fine," she stammered. "I mean, some sandwich stuff, or crackers, juice and soda…"

"Don't know what kinds, now do I? C'mon, get dressed."

"Okay," she said after a moment.

Buffy got out of bed and went to her closet. She put on a pair of jeans and then turned her back to him and pulled her oversized sleeping shirt over her head.

She could practically _hear_ Spike staring at her. Buffy slipped on a rose-colored tank top and grabbed a sweater jacket.

She turned back around. "What? You've seen it all before." Buffy smiled, not giving him time to react. "Let me wash my face and stuff and I'll be right down. Hey, go see what I set up in the basement."

When she came down from the bathroom, the door in the kitchen was open, and Spike was standing halfway down the wooden stairs. He looked up at the sound of her steps.

She gestured to the mats she'd gotten from Giles. "I've got plenty of room to stretch and exercise down here. I also figured we could spar on these sometimes. The backyard's good and all, but getting grass stains out of my clothing is becoming not so fun. Besides, falling on mats has got to be easier than the ground."

Spike turned to her. "Soon you shouldn't be fallin' much at all."

"That's the general idea…"

There was a pause, before Spike said, "C'mon pet, got a present for you."

Buffy followed him back up the stairs. "What? Why?"

"Cause you need it."

She stood in the kitchen and looked at him. "Well?"

"Get your stuff."

Buffy grabbed her purse and locked the door as she went out after him. Spike picked up a plastic bag that he'd left on the porch and held it out to her. Buffy took it, opening it to find a shiny, silver ladies helmet.

Spike watched her turn it over in her hands. "Can't be too careful," he muttered.

She smiled. "You think you're gonna crash?"

"No." He scowled. "But gotta be safe, right? Wouldn't be right to have the Slayer dyin' in freak car crash." Spike's eyes met hers. "Can't let anything happen to you."

She put the helmet on. "I like it. Thank you."

"Right. Let's go, then."

* * *

Shopping with Spike was odd at first. He followed her around the store as she added items to her hand-held basket. She wasn't sure what you were supposed to talk about while at the grocery store. Talking about the groceries was just lame, but anything else she had to say would seem majorly weird if overheard.

However, she found that if there was nothing to say, there was no need to fill the companionable silence. And actions spoke louder than words.

On the cereal aisle, there was a gothy girl in a black leather miniskirt who kept blatantly eyeing Spike. He ignored her, but Buffy couldn't help catching the girl's inviting smile and raised eyebrows. Buffy scowled and put a box of fruity granola bars in her basket. As she reached for another box, Spike's arm wrapped itself around her shoulder.

It was a possessive gesture, something she would have expected if a guy had been coming on to her. It said, 'She's mine.'

It also said, 'I'm with her.'

His arm stayed on her shoulder for the remainder of the trip.

At the register, she suspected Spike was going to pay, especially since he had said he was taking her shopping. But she opened her purse anyway.

"I've got it, pet." He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket.

"But it's food for me."

"And I'm buyin' it for you."

They had then gone back to Spike's, where putting up the groceries together seemed horribly domestic and normal. Not knowing exactly how often she would be over there, Buffy had opted to buy mostly non-perishable, packaged foods, instead of things like sandwich or salad ingredients. Besides granola bars and juice, she had gotten crackers, some fruit, cookies, soup, and some pasta that could be fixed in the microwave. She'd also bought a cheap set of hard plastic dishes that were sold individually, and large bowl for cooking in the microwave.

They spent the rest of the day comfortably watching TV together, despite her occasional and unenthusiastic protest that she should be doing something. Not that there was much to do. It was New Year's Day. Giles had the Magic Box closed and Willow had plans with Oz. Even her mother was gone, having driven to the next town over for some department store closeout.

But she and Spike could have at least been training or something. Even if curling up next to him as his arm looped around her was extremely comfortable.

Later they went patrolling, and for the most part had an uneventful evening.

But toward the end of the night, she caught sight of Angelus watching them from across the cemetery. He was standing just on the top of a small hill in the shadows of a mausoleum. There was a blonde woman with him this time.

"Darla?" she whispered to Spike.

"Yeah."

Darla's eyes met hers, and she smiled a knowing, condescending smile. Like she thought she knew everything that was going to happen to Buffy and was looking forward to it.

Buffy flipped her stake, daring them to come down. Angelus smiled, and the pair walked in the other direction.

Buffy's fingers closed around the wood as they disappeared.

But it wasn't time yet.

* * *

-

-

"Just keep an eye on her. Find out what she's up to, where she goes. If you want to have some fun, go ahead, but she is the Slayer, so…" Angelus spread his hands out and shrugged, "…probably not a good idea just now."

None of the minions moved.

"We're done. Get out."

Darla watched as they shuffled out of the room. She turned to Angelus. "You know if any of them attack her, she'll dust them."

"So? I can always make more. Besides, who needs stupid followers? The Slayer can thin the herd for me. I was thinking of sending a whole bunch after her at once. Might try that later. Could be fun."

Darla glanced at Drusilla, who had just walked in. "And where have you been? You've been gone since sunset."

"Have a good night, Dru?"

"Our tummies were rumbly," she crooned, shifting the dog in her arms. "We found a lovely pet shop. Kibble for Molly, and the owner for me."

"Molly?" Darla asked. "I thought you named that overgrown rat Sunshine."

"No," Dru said, pouting, "There are two too many sunshines." Then, seemingly amused at herself, she continued. "Three too many sunshines, four too many sunshines…"

"Right." Disinterested, Darla turned back to Angelus.

Dru walked into the other room. "Sunshine, sunshine," she whispered.


	55. Weapons

"Ew."

"It's not that bad."

"It's ew." Buffy looked down at the dead demon. "Really makes me appreciate the vamps going poof. Do I have to bury it?"

"Nah."

"I can't just leave it here for people to see."

Spike grabbed the demon's legs and dragged it into the bushes. "This is the Hellmouth. These things take care of themselves."

"So it's in the bushes now. It's still not gonna disappear."

"Not on its own."

"What's that mean?"

"Believe me, you don't wanna know."

Buffy paused. "Again, ew."

She looked at the bushes again, but trailed after Spike as they made their way through the rest of the park. It was near the end of patrol, and after checking the adjacent cemetery, they started walking back to her house.

As they neared her block, she said, "You still coming by tomorrow night?"

"Yeah."

"I've got to sleep late tomorrow. And I'm gonna need coffee." She glanced at him hopefully. "Maybe you could bring me a midnight snack."

"Maybe."

"Otherwise I won't be able to do anything."

"Right."

"I'm not good at staying up all night."

"I can keep you busy." Spike grinned at her.

"Ha ha."

Spike left her at the corner, and Buffy walked the few remaining feet to her house.

She opened the front door, an extra key jingling on her ring. Spike had pressed it into her palm at the end of patrol the other night, with a 'Here you go, pet,' and no further discussion. Not that she was going to argue about it.

Buffy crept into the kitchen, careful not to wake her mother as she fixed a midnight snack.

But when was she supposed to use the key? Should she still knock, or just walk in? It seemed rude to walk in, even though that's what he did to her—and through the window no less. (But she wasn't that annoyed by it; it was sort of cute, in a Spike way.) Maybe she should only use the key if he wasn't there. But wouldn't it be weird for him to come back and just find her there? Buffy frowned as she poured herself some milk. See, this was the sort of thing that guys simply didn't think about when they went around giving keys.

The other part of her brain said to shut up and stop obsessing. Spike had given her a key to make things easier, not more complicated. He wouldn't care how she entered, when she came and left, or how much time she spent there.

He probably wouldn't care if she lived there.

* * *

Several hours after sunset the next night, Buffy made her way to the Magic Box. Willow let her in the front door, saying, "Are you sure? Cause you don't have to. I mean, it's not like it's hard, but it's not like you have to."

"It's cool." Buffy shrugged. "This way someone gets a night off, right?"

She nodded. "I think Giles is. He said something the other day about needing his sleep. Xander doesn't seem to mind, and since it's my boyfriend, of course I'm going to one night. But I would do two, if you're—"

"I think I can handle watching a chained up werewolf one night a month."

Willow smiled. "Okie-dokie. I'll show you where he's at."

She led Buffy into the training room, where a transformed Oz was contained in the back corner. Heavy manacles were attached to an iron ring in the wall, allowing him only a few feet of movement.

He looked at them as they entered and growled slightly, but otherwise didn't move.

"He's been pretty good lately," Willow said. "Sometimes he seems to like it when I read to him. Not that you have to read to him," she added. "Giles and Xander don't. And the tranquilizer gun is right there, but he's never gotten out. Just, y'know, precaution."

Buffy nodded.

"The keys for the chains are there. He can't reach them, so you'll have to unlock him after sunrise. Oh, and a few minutes before, you might want to go in the other room."

"Why?"

"Well, he's kinda…naked, after he changes."

"Oh. Right."

"Yeah," Willow said. "Just give him a minute to reach his clothes."

"Got it. Anything else?"

"I think that's it. You sure you won't be bored? Cause I could stay."

"Which would defeat the purpose of me taking over for a night. I'll be fine. I can play with weapons," she added.

"Okay, then."

Willow gathered up her things and Buffy let her out the back door. She had barely sat down before there was a tapping noise. Thinking that Willow had forgotten something, she opened the door, only to find Spike.

"What if she saw you?" she asked as he entered. "What if she comes back?"

"Nah. Made sure she was around the building." He turned to look at Oz. "So, this is your little friend's wolf boy, huh?"

Oz growled and shifted his chains, but seemed to sense that attacking the vampire would not be in his best interest.

"I fought a werewolf once," Spike continued, walking toward the center of the room. "Long time ago. It was vicious. I nearly lost my ha—"

"Well, Oz is fine. Willow says he's never even killed anyone. They've chained him up since it started."

Spike shrugged. Buffy noticed the bag in his hand.

"What did you bring me?" she asked.

"Midnight snack."

Buffy grabbed at it, but Spike held the bag out of her reach.

"It's not midnight yet, luv."

She jumped, but he twisted back.

"You eat it now, you'll be hungry later."

"Oh, fine," she grumbled.

Spike set the bag down, and Buffy gestured around the room. "So what are we going to do first?"

"First?"

"Yeah, you know, weapons. I'm ready to play with weapons."

"You don't 'play' with weapons."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I know. I use weapons. And I know how to use weapons. But not as well as I could," she said pointedly.

"Weapons come later."

"What about all that a Slayer should always have her weapon stuff? We haven't actually fought with _weapons_ yet." She waved a stake around for emphasis.

Spike snatched it from her hand and threw it across the room. He raised both brows at her.

"I wasn't ready," she said, pouting. "I know, not the point."

"A Slayer _should_ always reach for her weapon. But weapons can be taken away." Spike slowly walked halfway around her. "The first Slayer I killed, she had a sword. I didn't. I killed her anyway."

"Fine, so you're good."

"She was good. I was better." He paused and looked at her. "I wanted it more."

"Is this that Slayer death wish thing?"

"Maybe. With her, maybe not. The second one, yeah."

"Well, I don't have one."

"Good." He started to circle her again, his hand softly pushing under her hair to encircle her neck. "You have to want it—want to stay alive more than they want you dead." Spike stopped when he was in front of her, pressing his fingers against the hollow of her throat.

"This is what any vamp is gonna be goin' for. Blood is life, and right here is where it's easiest to touch, easiest to taste. Easiest to take. Most of 'em, that's the only thing they'll be thinking. Yeah, some will just wanna kill you, but most want your blood with it."

"Did you?" She wasn't sure why she asked that.

"Did I what?"

"Have the blood of the ones you killed?"

"One I did, one I didn't," he said, voice flat.

"Why?"

"First time, just to prove that I'd done it. Second one, dunno. Didn't seem like the thing to do."

"How did you kill her?"

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Snapped her neck."

His thumb tenderly rubbed over her collarbone.

"You fought them unarmed," she said.

"I've already got a weapon," Spike reminded her. "Anything else is extra." He paused. "Yeah, you always need a weapon. But you've also got to _be_ a weapon."

"Angelus, is he the type to use weapons?"

"Not usually. To fight a Slayer, maybe."

"He doesn't just want to kill me. He doesn't just want my blood. You know he doesn't. He wants _me_."

Spike's jaw clenched.

"I get that I need to be able to take care of myself if I'm disarmed, I do. But right now we've got an entire room full of weapons and the whole place to ourselves—as long as we avoid the werewolf in the corner. Tonight, at least, I think weapons would be of the good."

"Alright, then," he said after a moment. "So what do you fancy, pet?"

Buffy shrugged, moving away. "Let's start with the staffs. I beat Wesley and Giles with those."

Spike smirked. "I won't be so easy."

She picked a staff off the wall and tossed him another one. "I'm counting on it."

They circled each other slowly, testing the other as they worked up to fighting.

Predictably, Spike was better than Giles and was so much better than Wesley. He fought with experience, handling the quarterstaff with sinuous movements. It flowed like an extension of his body. But what looked light and quick was practiced and hard; even as he twirled it, his grip was firm and unwavering.

They went round for several minutes before a quick twist spun Buffy's staff out of her hands. Spike whirled around on the follow-through, his staff expertly freezing inches from her head.

Buffy tilted her head, leaning away from the blow that, if completed, could have broken her neck. She tapped her finger against the end of the wood. "See?" she said pleasantly. "We need to do more with weapons."

* * *

Around midnight, they stopped, and Buffy ate her snack. Spike had brought her doughnuts and a cold coffee drink in a bottle. Though he had forgotten to mention it, so now it was not so cold. Buffy put it in the mini-fridge in the back for later, and settled on water for the time being. Coming back into the room, she sat down cross-legged on the floor and set two doughnuts on a napkin.

Spike was swinging an axe around. "Watcher's got quite a collection."

"Yeah." Buffy took a bite. "He's really good at fencing."

Spike made a dismissive noise. "Fencing." He flipped the axe again.

"Hey, I know fencing is all—"

"Nancy boy?"

"—proper and stuff, but it's all about technique, right? I need technique."

"I'll give you technique," he scoffed.

"You can fence?"

"I can use a sword." Spike turned back to the wall, picking up one sword, then another, and testing their weight. "Finish your food and we'll get started."

"With real swords?"

"It's what you'd be usin' to fight, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah, but…"

"Balance on those foils is all wrong. Besides, I'm not the Watcher. I'm not gonna hit you and you're not gonna hurt me. Although…" Spike paused, taking off his coat and draping it over a cabinet.

"Thought I wasn't going to hit you."

"You might get lucky."

"I did knock you down a couple of times earlier." Buffy wiped her hands and stood. She gestured to the duster. "Where did you get that thing anyway?"

There was a long pause. "New York."

It took a moment for it to click. "It isn't—you didn't—oh God, you did—it is."

"Stop lookin' at me like that. It's a coat, not a sodding scalp. And I'd say that by now it's _my_ coat."

She couldn't help asking, "So what did you get from the other one?"

Spike's hand came up to trace the scar on his eyebrow. "I got this."

* * *

Hours later, Buffy was tiring. Even with Slayer strength, her arm was beginning to feel heavy. When her sword was easily wrenched from her grasp, she wasn't surprised. He had disarmed her before this. A quick twist and he was behind her, knocking her to the ground even as he twirled. Buffy fell flat on her back and when she looked up, she wasn't surprised to see his sword pointed at her chest.

She was surprised when Spike didn't immediately shift his position.

Sword still in hand, he stared down at her and said, "I love your hair."

Buffy wasn't even going to contemplate the fact that while she had been struggling to keep up with him, he had been thinking about her hair. "I don't think I can move."

He gave her a 'what do you expect' shrug, tossing the sword to the floor and sinking down next to her on the mat. Spike leaned on his side, propping a hand under his chin.

"I think I forgot how to breathe," she moaned.

His hand played with the strands spread out on the mat. "How it moves… How it falls when you lay down…"

Buffy couldn't possibly see how he could want to lie next to her and play with her hair. She felt gross and sweaty.

But his hand was so relaxing…

"Does that gem make you stronger?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"No…" His voice lingered.

"But?"

"The steady bit of Slayer blood isn't hurting, I expect."

"Are you saying I've been making you _stronger_?"

"Probably." He twirled a wisp near her ear.

"Are you kidding?"

"No. But it's gotta stop helping sometime," he offered.

"Right." Buffy wasn't convinced. "How am I ever going to beat you if I'm making you even better?"

Spike ran his fingers through her hair. "When you do, you'll be bloody brilliant."

Buffy closed her eyes, leaning into his hand.

"Well, let's hope, because right now, I seriously don't think I can move." She sighed. "Don't let me fall asleep."

"Why not?"

"Have to watch Oz."

"Doesn't look like he's doin' much." Spike's fingertips on her forehead. "An hour wouldn't hurt you, luv."

"No one else got an hour."

"No one else spent all night sparrin' with yours truly."

Buffy yawned, a half moan.

"I'll keep an eye on the wolf."

"You can't leave the room," she said, conceding.

"Wouldn't think of it."

"You have to wake me up if he does something. Like anything. In fact, wake me up if anything happens, period. And you _have_ to wake me up before sunrise."

"Alright, pet."

Buffy sighed again, lost in the soothing feeling of Spike's hand slipping through her hair as she slowly drifted into unconsciousness.


	56. Rests

Buffy woke up to someone gently shaking her.

"Time to get up, luv."

She groaned and rolled over. The training mat was not so comfortable, but she was tired enough that she really didn't care. "What time is it?"

"Twenty minutes till sunrise."

"But what time is it?"

"Dunno."

"Then how—"

"Can feel the sun, pet."

"Right. Vampire." Buffy pushed herself up into a sitting position. A moment more and she stood. "I'm good. Awake now."

Spike got up as well, shrugging on his coat. "Patrol tonight?"

"Yeah."

Spike leaned in, planting a kiss on the top of her head. Then he was gone, the back door closing behind him.

Buffy stood frozen for a moment, slightly stunned. There was nothing at all intimate about kissing her on the head, but he'd done it so naturally. It was casual, couple-like. And it made something in her flutter.

Quickly shaking it off, she went into the bathroom to make herself presentable and then grabbed her coffee drink out of the fridge. Buffy put the weapons back up, afterward plopping herself down at the table in the front of the store.

As sunrise approached, she heard noises, and after the sun had been up for a few minutes she ventured toward the training room.

"Oz? Are you, um, covered up?"

"Yeah."

Buffy went back, grabbing the key off the wall as she walked over. Oz had his jeans on, but was unable to put on his shirt until she unlocked him.

"So what's it like?" she asked.

"The chains are kinda cold."

Buffy smiled. "No, I mean the whole werewolf thing."

"Not as traumatic as you'd think. Yet exactly as traumatic." Oz shrugged, rubbing his wrists as he stood up. "There's duality."

He pulled the T-shirt over his head.

There was a sudden noise at the back door, and for a tense second Buffy thought Spike had returned.

"It's Willow," Oz said. At Buffy's blank look, he said, "I can smell her."

"Oh." She walked to the door. "Can you always do that?"

"With her," he said, nodding. "Other people, not so much. It's sharper around the full moon." He inhaled again and frowned to himself, but didn't seem to have anything to add.

Buffy was about to turn the knob when the door swung open. Willow had keys in one hand and a bag in the other. She beamed at Buffy.

"Morning! I brought doughnuts." Willow shared a quick kiss with Oz. "So, how'd it go?"

He shrugged. "It went." Then he looked at her. "But you shouldn't have come down so early."

"I drove the van," Willow said. "Only walked from the dorm to the parking space in the dark. I'm not a complete dummy."

"Not one at all. I just worry."

"And I worry about you. Hence the early Willow visit."

Oz smiled.

Buffy cut in. "As sweet as both of you not worrying is, I'm beat. I've got to call it a day."

"You want something to eat before you go, Buffy?" Willow smiled and waved the bag. "Sugary goodness."

"Thanks, but my bed is calling."

"Mine too, actually," Oz said. "Jumping around all night? Not as rejuvenating as one might imagine."

"Yeah," Willow said. "After a moon night, he always sleeps until three." Then she turned to Oz. "Though you kinda do that anyway."

He shrugged again. "It's a gift."

* * *

Buffy had gone home and slept Friday away, only waking up in time to eat and head out for patrol.

On Saturday she went shopping with Willow, buying a few new things for the impending semester. And while she was more than pleased to be buying a smaller size of jeans, she was less than thrilled when she pulled tops off the rack, only to try them on and find herself not filling them up.

Buffy put finding a good bra on her to do list.

After sunset, they walked to Giles's, where he was going to go over some magic with Willow.

"And last week, he showed me this really cool meditation," Willow said. "Giles says the key to power is control. Which I do get. I've seen out of control. I even did a little out of control. I mean, it was so cool at first, magic. I could make things happen. Add this, say that, and poof! Though sometimes it wasn't the right poof. I mean, things happened, but not the things that I meant to happen. But Giles has shown me a lot."

"Well, you can't own a magic shop without knowing something," Buffy said. "Plus, Watcher."

"Yeah. But the way he talks about spells going bad, sometimes I think he knows more about it."

"Maybe Giles hasn't always been so Watcherly?"

"Maybe. But I mean, he's so _proper_. Can you imagine him being all bad mojo?"

Buffy laughed. "The bad guys in movies always have British accents, and are all suave and elegant. He could totally pull it. He just needs a pipe to smoke and a fluffy cat to pet."

"And one of those big swively desk chairs." Willow paused. "Though, there was this sorcerer guy here last year. Giles wasn't happy to see him, but it seemed like they were pretty chummy back in the day. That guy definitely had the cult vibe going on."

Buffy snorted. "Could you see Giles in a cult? Wearing his tweed?"

Willow giggled.

"No, I take that back. Giles could lead a cult. A cult of tweed."

They had reached the apartment complex, and Willow walked across the courtyard and knocked on Giles's door. A moment later he opened it, fully dressed in a tweed suit.

Buffy and Willow exchanged looks and giggled.

"May I ask what is so amusing?"

"Nothing," they said in unison.

Buffy followed Willow in. It was the first time that she had been at Giles's apartment, she realized. It was neat but cozy, with dark wood furniture and lots of books.

Giles offered her a seat, and after a few words about patrol and such, asked how her mother was coping with everything.

"She's okay, I guess. Still adjusting a little, but at least I don't have to hide it." Buffy laughed. "When I put the mats in the basement I moved all my weapons down there. You should have seen her face when she realized her daughter knew how to use a crossbow."

"Rather hit home, I imagine?"

"Yeah. But she's totally supportive. She even asks how my Slaying went, the same way she used to ask about my day at school. But it's nice to get the weapons out of my room, because they so did not go with my stuff."

Giles then began setting things up with Willow. Buffy sat quietly in the chair and watched as Willow performed simple spells. Calling a book to her, making a flower bloom, conjuring a ball of light that danced around the room. It was all so, well, magical.

Only when Giles and Willow began to discuss substitute ingredients, theories, and books with lots of Latin in them did she slip out for a moment.

Buffy closed the front door and walked into the shadows of the courtyard.

"You don't have to stand around until I'm done," she said. "Patrol's not until later."

"After dark, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm hardly in a public place. No vamps are getting into Giles's uninvited."

Spike shrugged. "Stalkin' you as requested."

"It's just, I mean, I know what I said, but don't you get just a little bit bored following me around?"

"No."

That was a fast answer. "Really?"

"Not gonna get bored of you." He shrugged again. "Besides, huntin' and stalkin'—kind of what vamps do. Feels natural-like."

"So you like the watching. Doesn't the watching out for part feel unnatural?"

"Not if it's you." He met her eyes. "Now, toddle back inside before they miss you."

Spike smirked, melting back into the shadows.

Buffy turned toward the door. However, instead of going in, she found herself sinking down on the nearby bench.

She knew Spike was watching her. He knew that she knew he was watching her. It was an interesting feeling, knowing that she was doing absolutely nothing but being watched. It felt like there was an invisible string between them, though she wasn't sure which one of them was leading the other one.

It was over several silent minutes later that Willow stuck her head out the door. "Buffy?"

"Hey. Just getting some air. Anyway, you guys were talking pretty intense. Way over my head."

She nodded. "It's a little overwhelming at first. Which is why in the beginning I jumped right in with the hocus pocus and not so much the focus. But it's like science," she said, perking up. "Theories and reactions. I mean, I wouldn't just start adding chemicals if I didn't know what they could do, so I shouldn't do that with magic."

"Giles give you that analogy?"

"Yeah. Pretty much after the chemistry lab thing. He has a point. Plus, after I nearly set myself on fire I was open to suggestions."

"How's the ball of sunshine thing working?"

"Not working. I thought I so had it once, but it blew up in my face. Pretty much literally. Trying to create new spells is more explode-y than doing ones that are already written. But I can do locator spells now. And binding spells. And unbinding ones." She nodded. "Never bind what you can't unbind."

"Good advice. So, you ready for patrol?"

Willow nodded.

Buffy stood up. "All right, let's do it."

* * *

After she got home, Buffy took a long bath and completely relaxed. However, as she closed the door to her room and finished toweling her hair, she couldn't help but catch her reflection in the full-length mirror on her door.

Buffy hung up the towel and put on a pair of panties. Then she turned back to the mirror, looking at her body from all angles. After several turns, she realized it was officially true.

Her boobs were shrinking.

It had been so gradual that she hadn't noticed it. But there was no question now that her curves were less curvy.

Ever since she became the Slayer, she had been getting thinner, losing the extra fat from her body. All the patrols, the workouts, the training—heck, she could have a higher metabolism now for all she knew. Her arms were beginning to have definition, her legs as well. Her stomach was toned and completely flat, and her butt, well, her butt had never looked better. She had finally lost that little bit of _jiggle_ that she'd hated.

Unfortunately, losing all the fat on her body meant that there were only so many places to lose it from. And now she was losing it from the place that she most definitely did _not_ want to lose it.

She couldn't exactly cut down on the physical activity, though. Maybe she needed to eat more, even if she wasn't hungry. Because honestly, she'd already done the flat chest thing during freshman year.

Buffy turned, twisting her shoulders around. It really wasn't any better from the side. Sighing, she dropped her arms to her sides and stood in front of the mirror with a dejected look on her face.

A scraping noise caught her attention, and she turned in surprise to find Spike on the windowsill behind her. He was frozen, like he thought he should go back out, but was somehow unable to move. She hadn't seen him in the mirror, of course.

Buffy immediately put her hands over her chest.

"Close the window!" was the first thing out of her mouth, though she hadn't intended it to be.

He complied, sliding the glass back down and pulling the curtains shut as he fully entered the room.

Buffy looked down. She started to say something, but then turned to her dresser in search of a shirt to put on.

He was behind her before she realized it, his hands coming up to softly rest over hers. "Don't. Let me see you."

"I'm don't—I'm not…"

"You're beautiful," he said in her ear.

Despite the voice in her head saying that this was really not where this should be going, Buffy let him guide her hands down as he turned her back to the mirror.

She stood in it, reflected alone, yet not alone. She anticipated that he would touch her, but he didn't. He only held her wrists, loosely, lightly, as if to counter the urge to bring her hands back up.

Then he turned, moving away from her, pulling her by one hand over to the bed. Still in nothing but her underwear, she found herself beneath him. His duster fell open, shrouding her as he crawled on top of her, making her a part of him as his hands found her flesh and his mouth her neck.


	57. Whispers

Buffy could feel it coming. They had never had the conversation in bed before, but the moment just seemed to call for it.

It being what Buffy had mentally termed their 'I really should kill you, y'know,' conversation. She couldn't remember exactly how or why the conversations had begun, only that they had started it once during a training session. The exchanges were completely phony, verbal sparring that was no more real than the blows they traded.

Now, the words would be belied by their intertwined bodies.

Spike had just finished and was still completely on top of her. His right hand was on her breast, trapped between their chests; his left was grasping her shoulder, his thumb under her arm. The fabric of his shirt touched her where his skin did not. His smooth face was pressed against her cheek, his breath tickling the hair by her ear. One of his thighs was between hers, and she remembered arching into him, squeezing back as his teeth had entered her—as his hands had kneaded her, telling her physically that she wasn't lacking.

Buffy could still feel his erection pressing against her, and she knew that whatever line they'd been dancing on had been crossed. Neither one of them was merely thinking of blood. Funny how she didn't care. But she couldn't bring herself to start a new conversation. The last time she had started a new conversation, it hadn't turned out so well, not to mention completely spoiled the moment. So she settled for a conversation already completed to break the silence, at least to begin with.

There was also something comforting under the words; somehow it seemed they were saying everything they weren't saying.

"I shouldn't be doing this," she said half-heartedly, making no move to extricate herself.

"Right," he breathed.

"I'm insane to let you have my blood."

"Right."

"I really should kill you. Or at least try. Slayer—Vampire."

"Right."

Silence.

"I really should get with it and just drain you already," Spike said, taking his turn.

"Uh-huh."

"Kill you dead."

"Uh-huh."

"Natural enemies and all. Vampire—Slayer."

"Uh-huh. Fight to the death." Pause. "Except I'm too comfortable to move right now."

"Yeah."

"Some other time, then."

"Later," he agreed, kissing her cheekbone.

Buffy sighed, a half giggle.

Then, more seriously, "What are we, Spike?"

"Does it matter?"

"No."

Spike breathed in. He had his nose buried in her hair, and she could tell he was doing more than just taking a deep breath. He was inhaling her scent, immersing himself in her.

He did it again and then started to move.

Buffy wrapped her arms around him.

"Stay."

"I'm—"

"You're not too heavy," she said, anticipating him. "Slayer, remember?"

"Just want you to be comfortable. Could get under the covers."

"You're comfortable. And cover."

Buffy ran her hand over his back, over the soft leather that covered them both in this position. Her right arm came up to the back of his head. She flexed her fingers in Spike's hair. "You should leave the gel out."

"Don't like it with the gel out."

"Mm, I kind of did. But you should at least leave it out sometimes. Makes it easier to run my fingers through."

"When you put it like that…"

Buffy giggled.

Spike shifted slightly, and she felt again what was now pushing directly between her thighs. Buffy pressed against him automatically, reacting to the feel of him.

But he didn't move again, so neither did she.

"Spike?"

"Hm?"

"You know that whole 'your blood is you' thing?"

"Yeah."

"Were you thinking about that at first? When we made the deal? I mean, I didn't know that. I wasn't—I mean, it'd be like—" _Like you knew you were getting something I wasn't offering._ "Obviously, the blood—" she stammered.

He turned his head to the side, resting it on her shoulder. "You pretty much had me at Slayer blood, luv. Didn't really realize the other until later." He paused. "Until I realized what you meant."

"Meant?"

"To me."

Buffy was silent for a moment. "Oh."

Spike moved his hand, slowly caressing the skin to the side of her breast. She could almost feel each rib under the pressure of his finger.

"I'm too thin."

His pinky traced the indentation between two of the bones. "It's just cause you're stretched out, is all."

"Don't you think I'm too thin?"

"You're thin, Buffy. I'm not gonna say you aren't. But you're hardly skin and bones. Weigh enough, I'll bet."

"Yeah…"

Spike slid his hand under her, running it down the firm planes of her back. "So you lost a little padding."

Buffy closed her eyes for a moment, lost in the feeling of his semi-massage.

"Well, it helped fill out some things," she said after a moment. "Like designer clothes, for one. I can't afford any now, so it'd be nice to be able to wear the ones I have. Besides, isn't…padding, nicer to, well, touch?"

"I s'pose. But it doesn't matter. I always thought you were a bit thin, anyhow."

"Any more then and I would have been fat!"

"No, you wouldn't have."

"You thought I was too thin, even before?"

"Mm-hmm." He nodded against her. "Told myself I shouldn't like you at all. Too thin, too blonde—"

"Hey! I'll have you know that I'm a natural blonde."

"Believe me, luv, I know."

Buffy remembered exactly _how_ he knew that her hair was all the same color. For some reason, even with the position that they were in, she felt herself flushing.

"What else did you think about me, back then?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Well, that you had a nice neck, for one."

"Noticed all the important things, did you?"

"Vampire."

"So what else?" she prompted.

"I liked your hair," Spike said. "Even if you were just another blonde. It looked so…touchable."

As if to emphasize his point, Spike moved his right hand up her back and brought it to the base of her neck. The crook of his elbow pressed into her side, and the leather of his coat creaked as it rubbed against itself.

His fingers slid into her hair, traveling from the bottom of her skull to the crown of her head. Then they were running through the strands, pulling them out straight in a halo around her head as his hand slipped away.

He propped himself up on his other arm, then spreading out the hair on the side that he'd had his face next to.

Apparently satisfied at his work, Spike appraised her. He smiled one of those genuine smiles. "Besides, you're missin' the point."

"Which is?" she whispered.

"You're still Buffy to me. It doesn't matter what you look like."

Buffy opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

"Straight, curvy, hard, soft—it's still you. Although—" He raised an eyebrow, a half leer— "you really don't have cause to be complain' now. Looks pretty good from here. If it bothers you, eat more."

"I try to be healthy—"

"Like with doughnuts?"

"I eat bad stuff," she admitted. "But I can't eat it every day. And you're the one who keeps bringing me doughnuts."

"You don't have to eat all junk. Just eat more."

"I guess." Then she laughed. "God, I'm pathetic. I've got the reverse problem of every girl who hates her body, a gorgeous guy telling me I'm beautiful, and I still can't shut up about it. So, I'm just going to."

"Gorgeous, am I?"

"I always thought you were," she said. "Though strange, obviously."

"Obviously." He smirked.

Buffy sighed after a moment. "I really should sleep. I'm tired."

Spike slid off her, pulling the comforter up to cover her. Lying down on top of it, he draped one arm across her as he settled next to her on his side.

Buffy curled to him. She smiled. "I feel like a high-schooler—sneaking a boy into my room after dark, having him climb up the tree outside my window."

"Did that a lot, did you?"

"Never, actually. But don't people do that? They always do that on TV." She snuggled into him. "It's nice sleeping with you."

Then she froze, realizing what she'd said. She could practically feel Spike grinning.

Buffy quickly looked up at him. "Um, not what I meant. Not that that wasn't nice—it was! But I just meant this is nice—going to sleep like this. With you here."

He pressed his lips to the top of her head. "I know."

"Do you…think it's nice?"

"I do."

"You know you can leave after I go to sleep."

"I could." His tone told her that he wasn't going to.

"But I'll be asleep. You don't have to stay."

"I could stay with you all night." He was silent a long moment. "Do you know what it means that you sleep in my arms?"

She wanted to say _'That you're comfy?'_ But she could tell he was being serious. "No…?"

"It means you trust me."

Buffy frowned. "Of course I trust you. I wouldn't let you bite me if I didn't trust you."

"It wouldn't be that hard to get me off you, not for you now. But this," —his hand ghosted over her face— "when you're unaware, helpless…giving yourself to me to keep until you wake up again… It means something."

Buffy met his eyes, though they were shadowed in the darkness. "You would never hurt me."

"Never," he agreed. "But it still means something."

"What does it mean?" she breathed.

"It means that you're mine."

Buffy was momentarily stunned. He said it so plainly, with finality. The words gave her a shiver, but she wasn't sure how to respond.

Finally, she managed a timid, "This is the twenty-first century, y'know." She could tell from Spike's suddenly rigid posture that whatever he had intended to say, it hadn't been exactly that.

"I didn't mean—well, yeah I did…just didn't mean for it to sound like that. You're mine to keep safe. To have and hold and l—look after. Didn't mean that you don't have your own mind or are dependent. I just—"

"It's fine. I understand." She paused. "So if I'm yours, are you mine?"

Spike pulled her closer, and whispered in her ear:

"Forever."


	58. Discoveries

In the morning, Spike was gone. But she had expected him to be, so it didn't really bother her.

Buffy spent Sunday moping around, trying to not dread school starting.

Monday came, and class came. Funny how you could be out of school for a month, yet the moment you went back, it seemed like you had never left. It was a typical first day, Buffy thought—hearing overviews and getting syllabi. Two of her professors had assigned the first chapter's reading for homework; the others had started lecturing. Only one had let them out early.

Buffy also discovered that Willow _really_ liked school. At lunch, she was already planning for what her final Chemistry project would be, and was complaining at how basic her computer class was.

After class, they went to the Magic Box. Xander was already off work, and Willow started telling him about her day.

"I mean, it's Programming, but it's hardly programming. I can do stuff like that with one hand tied behind my back."

"Sorry, Will, but I don't think you're going to find a class on advanced hacking. Sort of conspicuous."

"Yeah, but I just wanted a challenge, you know? I can drop it till Friday though. Maybe I'll test out and take something else. Oh! I heard there was this great sociology professor who talks about reality being a construct, and how everyone participates in giving meaning to their own encounters and existence."

Xander looked at Buffy. "And this," he said, "is why I skipped college."

Suddenly Anya walked up to Giles, holding a statue and a talisman out. "Do you know what these do?" she demanded. "Together, you can create your own demon with these."

"In that case, I've severely under priced them."

"You're also not selling the crystal balls for enough. You can't be getting a good return on those."

"Anya, would you like a job?"

"Really?"

"Yes, actually." Giles took off his glasses. "Willow will be cutting back her hours because of classes, I need the assistance, and you're quite knowledgeable about the merchandise."

"Money," she said, beaming. "Money of my very own."

"And the work, Ahn," Xander said. "Don't forget the work."

"Oh, work," she said dismissively. "I've worked for a thousand years. How hard can retail be?"

* * *

The next afternoon, Buffy and Spike were sparring, using the mats in the basement for the first time.

Buffy spun, rebounding from avoiding a kick. She quickly compensated and delivered her own kick. Jumping back, she grinned.

"What?" he asked.

"You always used to get me on the kicks. Now you don't."

"You're good."

"Getting better. I can also do back flips again."

Buffy twisted around, evading him as he tried to grab her.

"Giles thinks I'm 'astonishing,'" she said, circling him. "We still fence, but he won't fight with me with anything else. The other day he had me blindfolded and throwing things at him. I accused him of running out of training ideas."

Spike tried to kick her legs out from under her. Buffy jumped, punching at him, but missing.

They circled again, and then she said, "Though, I've got to start dinner before Mom gets home. We've been doing this a while."

He stopped and shrugged. "Alright."

Buffy looked around. "You know, we should probably do weapons down here, too. It might look too suspicious in the backyard."

"Nothin' looks too suspicious in Sunnyhell."

She frowned. "You said that before. 'Old Sunnyhell.'"

"Been here before."

"When?"

"Where do you think I dug up the gem? Right here on the Hellmouth."

"Right. The gem." She raised an eyebrow. "So what exactly happens if you get staked?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He smirked.

"Seriously."

"It tickles."

"No, really."

Spike regarded her for a moment. "Nothin' happens. I can walk in the sun, play with fire—a little stake's not gonna do it, either." He grinned. "Haven't tried beheading myself, so that one's still a wild card."

"Eww…" Buffy made face. "But no one else really knows?"

"Dusted the vamps that I recruited to dig it up, killed the sorcerer who reset it for me."

"Lovely."

"It was a damn ring." Spike shook his head, as if in disbelief. "Too bloody obvious."

"I was referring to the elimination."

"It's called a survival tactic, luv."

"But I know."

"Yeah," he said. "Probably should kill you for that."

"Not if I kill you first." She smiled, but then became serious. "It's that whole thing about trust, isn't it? Like you said I trusted you. It means something that I know."

"Yeah, pet. It does."

"Good." Then she gestured to the stairs. "Now get out of here. I've got to fix dinner."

"I'm wounded." Spike put his hand to his chest. "Don't wanna be seen with me?"

Buffy shrugged. "On second thought, you could stay. We could all eat together. And of course my mom will have _all_ these questions that she'll just be _dying_ to ask you now." She ticked off her fingers as she continued. "Like how have you been, what sort of work are you doing here, what's your family like—"

"I'm leaving."

* * *

Joyce actually called when Buffy was halfway through making chicken to say that she had been invited out to eat with one of the gallery's dealers. Buffy assured her that it wasn't a problem. After she hung up, she called Willow and invited her to come over early for dinner before patrol.

Buffy had taken the rolls out of the oven and was just tossing a salad when Willow arrived. They ate and then flipped through TV channels until after dark.

Buffy locked the door behind her, and she and Willow cut across yards as they headed for the nearby park.

"Do you know how you would look adorable?" Buffy suddenly asked, as they crossed the last street.

"No?"

She ran her fingers over the ends of Willow's hair. "Get a couple inches cut off. Get it right about here, where it would just brush your shoulder. Sort of feathery."

"I don't know. I just got it cut like this after graduation. It was kinda traumatic; it was the first time I'd ever cut a bunch off."

"But you'd be so cute. I'll go with you to the salon."

"You wanna cut yours?"

"Spi—I like it long. Ooh, but I could get layering and highlights. I haven't gotten highlights in a while. We could make it a day—get makeovers. We already bought new clothes."

Willow started to answer.

But suddenly Buffy wasn't listening. The night was too quiet, she realized. Not even animal noises.

"BUFFY!!"

She heard the warning at the same time that she felt them. Nearly a dozen vampires, closing in from all sides.

She saw Spike running toward her.

"You have a stake?" Buffy asked Willow.

She nodded, holding it in front of her.

That was all they had time for before they were fighting. Buffy took on whichever vamp was nearest, kicking and ducking and spinning. But after what seemed like forever, she had only staked two. Even if one left himself open, another was there to block the blow away from his heart.

Spike was in the thick of it opposite her, in game face as he growled and pushed one away, simultaneously dusting another one.

Buffy drove her stake through the heart of a vampire that was advancing on Willow. Then she twisted and managed to shove away another one, a move that put her fighting back to back with Spike.

But she quickly moved in front of Willow again. For every vampire that was interested in fighting the Slayer, there seemed to be one just as interested in picking off an easy meal. And that's what Willow was right now. She might dust the occasional vamp on patrol, but she didn't know how to move in a fight like this.

Buffy threw a quick glance over her shoulder. They were down to five vampires.

Suddenly there was a strangled shout. She spun, only to see Willow go down, a vampire on top of her. Buffy kicked away her opponent and lunged, staking the vampire over Willow's body.

Willow coughed at the dust and her hand flew to her neck. "I—he didn't—it's not _bad_ bad." Buffy could see the red oozing through her fingers.

"Spike!"

He turned, dusting a vampire in mid-spin.

"Get Willow out of here!" Buffy's eyes never left the two vampires that were suddenly circling her, their eyes flicking between her and Willow, who was pulling herself up.

"What?" Spike's face shifted as he paused to stare at her.

"She's hurt!" Buffy yelled over her shoulder. "Get her out of here!"

"You ca—"

"Do it! That's an order!"

For a frozen second, Spike glowered at her. Then he closed the distance between them in a blur of flapping leather and yanked Willow to her feet without stopping, pulling her away by the arm even as she struggled to regain her footing.

Buffy turned back to the vampires, staking the one that had been fighting Spike almost instantly and facing off against the remaining two.

Willow looked back at Buffy as Buffy's guy practically dragged her away. And while she was grateful to be in one piece (more or less), she couldn't help but remember what she'd seen.

Hadn't she seen it?

There were a lot of vampires—maybe she had just sort of pasted a vampire face on his head in the confusion.

He stopped and turned to scowl at her.

Maybe not.

He looked normal now. Of course, they could; she knew that. But his look gave her the impression that the last thing he wanted to be doing was standing there with her.

They were a fair distance away, and he let go of her arm and paused to watch Buffy fight. Willow thought he looked half ready to leave her here and jump back into the fray.

Then Buffy dusted a vampire, and the surviving minion started to run away. She happened to turn and saw them still standing there. "My God, I can handle one vamp by myself," she yelled. "Take her back to the house!" Then she took off down the street.

He stared after her and then made an exasperated noise, turning and walking in the other direction. After a moment, he stopped and spun around. "Well?" he demanded.

"Uh…"

"Bloody well keep up," he barked. "Can't stop somethin' from eatin' you if you're way back there."

Not having any other option except walking home alone and bleeding, she followed him the few blocks back to Buffy's.

When they got to the house, the windows were still dark, and he paused on the front porch.

"You know where a spare key is or somethin'?"

Willow shook her head.

He sighed. "Brilliant plan, luv," he muttered. She knew he wasn't talking to her.

He quickly picked the lock, and Willow wasn't sure she felt better or not when he walked through the threshold after her.

"Um, are you staying?" She tried to sound casual as she leaned awkwardly against the banister.

"Got a few things to say to the Slayer." He closed the front door.

There was a long pause, and neither spoke.

Willow decided that these were officially the most uncomfortable forty seconds of her entire life.

"Uh, you aren't a vampire…right?"

He turned toward her. Oh, if looks could kill. "If you don't go take care of that bloody cut, I'm gonna come over there and do it for you." His tongue darted between his lips.

With an 'eep,' she spun and quickly skittered down the hall, going into the bathroom and locking the door. She tried not to think about the vampire in the other room.

Though he hadn't tried to hurt her. But he was sort of scary. No, make that really scary. Then again, he'd actually helped her, and Buffy. But he was a vampire.

A vampire who had an invitation to Buffy's home.

Buffy had to have a good reason for knowing a vampire.

Didn't she?

* * *

Minutes later, Buffy flung open the front door. "Where's Willow?"

Spike stood from where he was slouched on the stairs. "Bathroom."

"Is she okay?"

"Dunno."

"What do you m—"

"Looks like she'll live," he interrupted her. "You get the vamp?"

"He won't be reporting back to Angelus."

"Uh-huh."

"What?" Buffy frowned. "Why are you all bad moody?"

"You keep doin' stuff like that, you're gonna get killed."

"Stuff like what?"

"Puttin' others ahead of you."

Buffy arched a brow. "Excuse me?"

He stepped forward. "You were more worried about her neck than your own."

"Yeah," she said dryly. "Because her neck was _leaking_. She didn't need to be there. She shouldn't have been in a fight like that to begin with. But having her injured and bleeding with a group of vampires is like a…a…"

"Happy Meal?" Spike supplied.

Buffy glared. "You know what? The thing I really don't want right now is the vampire perspective."

He tilted his head at her, looking at her critically. "That whole fight you were off, always circling her."

"_Protecting_ her. Because she needed it? Like say, how you might protect me?"

"I s'pose."

He acknowledged her point, but Willow's safety didn't seem to be high on his priorities.

"I'm the Slayer. Saving people is what I do."

"Killin' vampires is what you do."

"Well I don't kill them for the fun of it, or didn't you notice? I kill them to save people!"

"And you can't do it if you're dead."

"I was nowhere near dead!"

"Not this time."

Buffy crossed her arms. "I can handle a few minions by myself."

"Of course you can, but—"

"And that's all that were left—a few. And you know what? It _was_ much easier when I wasn't worrying about Willow. Which is why I told you to take her away!"

"If you're so worried about the bird, _you_ should've run off with her," he said, pointing in her face. "I'm not a sodding babysitter."

"_I_ was the one they wanted to fight. They would have followed us."

"Not if I killed them," Spike said flatly.

"I can't believe a _vampire_ is lecturing me about how to be a better Slayer!"

"Just the same vampire you _hired_ to teach you to be a Slayer!"

"To teach me to fight!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "Not to tell me who to save or how to do it! And hired is right. Final word here on how the Slaying is done. You tell me what to do in the training room, but out there, it's my call!"

He snorted. "For not wantin' to be a leader, luv, you're doin' a damn good job of it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"And why did you have to vamp out, anyway?" she suddenly demanded.

"I was fightin'! It's a reaction."

"I'm done with patrol tonight," she said bluntly.

"Guess there's no reason for me to stick around, then."

"Guess not."

The door slammed behind him.

Buffy stood in the entryway for a moment, before her shoulders slumped. A minute more and she turned around. She could see Willow's head through the crack in the bathroom door.

She'd been listening. Buffy couldn't blame her.

Buffy acknowledged her with a look, and then she went to sink onto the couch. Willow joined her after a moment.

She looked at Buffy. "Splainy. Now, please?"


	59. Talks

"Splainy. Now, please?"

"I'm not sure where to start."

"Well, that guy is a vampire," Willow said.

"Yeah…" _God, where to begin?_ "I wasn't lying about anything I said before."

"He's that guy from the Bronze," she said. "The one you said you had a thing with?" Then her eyes grew huge. "Faith. You've turned evil just like Faith!"

"I'm not evil! And Spike's not evil…right now," she finished lamely. "It's complicated."

Willow paused. "So I'm guessing this is why you didn't go all freaky when I told you about Oz."

"Pretty much, yeah."

Willow was still looking at her expectantly.

Buffy took a deep breath. "I knew Spike before I became the Slayer. He like, does stuff if you pay him. Even for humans—he doesn't care. He was hired to be my bodyguard; there were these guys trying to kidnap me. Long story short, my dad owed the wrong person money."

"Did you know he was a vampire?"

"Not at first. Until I saw him—or didn't see him—in a mirror one day." Buffy paused. "He was really good at avoiding mirrors. There were several downstairs. But I don't think he realized that that one was there. Anyway, it all sort of came out, then. I was really freaked out at first, but Wesley—"

"Wesley?"

"Er, yeah. You knew he helped me after I was called?"

"Giles said you knew him."

"Well, Wesley also knows about Spike. In fact, he's the one who hired him." Upon seeing the look on Willow's face, she quickly continued. "I know how it sounds. But Spike had this reputation of doing anything if you paid him enough. He's worked for humans before. He doesn't care what he's doing or who he's doing it for. Wesley has an agency now, doing all sorts of cases. He sort of became aware of Spike."

"Not to be interrupty gal, but if Spike's a vampire, why wouldn't he just dust him?"

"Because Spike's not so easy to kill. Plus, he saved Wesley's life once."

Willow's mouth made an 'O.'

"So he told me about Spike, and vampires. And it was weird, but I still didn't really realize what it meant. But Spike and I got closer, and after the whole kidnapping thing was over and he left, we…really got closer."

Buffy blushed, and Willow's eyes grew wide with understanding.

"Just the one time," Buffy said. "Or, the one night."

Willow nodded, automatically understanding the rule that no matter what happened, it still counted as one time if it was all in the same night.

Buffy continued. "And I was so happy, and he was so sweet—and then it seemed like everything fell apart at once. I discovered that he was still killing people, I became the Slayer, I had to start learning all this stuff and patrolling, he started following me on patrol—I never wanted to see him again, and he didn't seem to know what he wanted.

"One night this vampire almost killed me, had me down on the pavement. Spike went berserk, pulling him off me and beating him unconscious. That was when I realized that the Slayer package doesn't exactly come with the best retirement plan. I decided that that wasn't going to be me. So I made a deal with Spike, hired him to come with me, to teach me to fight, and to help me take down Angelus. And, it's sort of more than business."

"So…are you still…together?"

"We weren't then. But we are now, sort of. It's complicated. There are feelings." Buffy paused. "I didn't want to lie, I really didn't. But I couldn't just show up with a vampire. Not after Faith."

Willow nodded, acknowledging her point. "But why didn't Wesley say anything to Giles?"

"He doesn't know Spike came with me. He thinks the last time I saw him was some night on patrol. And I think he wanted to give me a clean slate, vampire-wise."

"So he's a vampire, and you said he was still killing?"

"Oh, no! No, no, that was part of the deal. He's not killing anyone while he's here with me. I swear he's not. As long as he's here, he's doing what I say. He's not going to hurt you or anyone else."

"But he would if it wasn't for you."

"Yeah," Buffy said slowly. "In L.A., he was."

Willow played with her hands in her lap.

Buffy nervously watched her, unsure of what she should say next. However, what Willow said next surprised her.

"He seemed worried about you. He must really like you."

"Huh?"

"Well, I mean, when you were arguing, it was because of what happened in the fight. Tonight, he obviously didn't want to help me, but he did. And for a vampire not to kill just because you ask him not to?"

"Well, it wasn't just because I asked him not to, it was part of the whole 'hired' thing…" she trailed off. The fact that she was paying Spike with blood was one thing that she was _not_ going to bring up. Buffy frowned. "So you're…okay with this?"

"I'm not exactly okay with it, but I'm trying to understand, y'know? Isn't that what best friends do?"

"Are we? Best friends?"

"I thought we were. Unless you don't want to be!" she quickly added.

"Of course I do," Buffy said. "We are. I just never thought about it before."

"And best friends keep secrets," Willow said with a nod. "Though, I kinda should warn you, I'm not the best at secrets. But as long as we're not talking about him, maybe not so hard."

"You'd do that? Because I can't ask you to keep it a secret. I'd _like_ for you to keep it a secret, but I'm not going to ask you to lie for me. If you think you need to tell Giles, fine. But I need to know, so I can figure out what I'm going to tell Giles."

"I won't tell Giles. But you should sometime. Don't you think if you told him, maybe, what you told me, maybe he wouldn't take it _that_ badly? I mean, Spike did save your life once—"

"Three."

"Huh?"

"Spike saved my life three times. There were these other vampires before I was the Slayer—it was a whole big thing."

"Three sounds even better," she said.

"Yeah, well, here's the other thing—Spike's not exactly just some vampire. He's related to Angelus. And he's done all this stuff that's written up in Giles's books, so I'm thinking Giles is not going to be so much with the open-mindedness." Buffy looked down. "Besides, it won't even matter. Spike will leave sometime, and I won't see him again." She noticed Willow's questioning gaze. "That whole 'no killing' thing? Apparently it's a limited time offer."

"Oh."

"So it's not like we're permanent."

"But he does like you?"

"And I like him. But it isn't enough."

Buffy blinked and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry you got hurt." Her eyes glanced at the bandage on Willow's neck.

"He barely got me. And it wasn't your fault—not like I don't know the risks."

"Angelus sent them to attack me," she said. "You just happened to be there." Buffy sighed. "C'mon, I'll drive you home."

* * *

The next day, Buffy went to class and met up with Willow in the late afternoon at the Magic Box. Willow was already telling Giles about last night, being unable to hide the bite on her neck from his sharp eyes. Xander was jokingly congratulating Willow on getting a battle scar.

"Oh no, this sucker is not going to scar," she said. "I've already been putting vitamin oil on it."

"Buffy," Giles said, getting her attention. He prompted her for the story again.

"Pretty much what Willow said," she replied, shrugging. "There were a lot of vampires, we managed to kill them all, but Willow got bit. They definitely weren't randomly attacking, though."

"You didn't see Angelus himself?"

"No. I guess he could have been watching, but I didn't feel anything."

"It rather seems he was testing you."

"Yeah. Got that." She paused. "Didn't Angelus ever mess with you guys?"

Giles was silent for a moment, considering. "Not particularly. He must have been aware of us, but I rather believe he didn't care. But we were never in a serious position to challenge him."

"And I am. Which is why he made with the barrel full of vampires."

"It would seem. Though I doubt he thought they would overcome you."

"But it couldn't hurt to try," Buffy finished.

They talked for a bit longer, before Xander said that he had to go pick up Anya at the hairdresser's. Buffy pointed out to Willow that Anya was getting her hair shorter (and auburn, apparently), and Willow mumbled that she'd ask Oz what he thought, before leaving herself.

Not that she would or wouldn't do something because of Oz, but it would be nice to know his opinion. On the other hand, Oz changed his hair all the time, so he'd probably like whatever she did. And it would always grow back if she didn't like it.

Willow walked from the Magic Box toward the Bronze. It was still daylight, but the sun had almost gone down by the time she made it to the street the Bronze was on.

Just before she reached the entrance, she heard a voice say, "Hey, Red."

Willow wasn't sure why she turned around. Red was hardly her name, but years of school had made her more or less conditioned to pay attention when someone used a redhead nickname.

Leaning in the shadows of the street was Spike, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

She paused. "Uh, hey."

Spike regarded her with a neutral expression.

Despite last night, Willow wanted nothing more than to continue on her way, but it seemed like she should at least say something else. Maybe try and be polite to the vampire who liked Buffy.

She started with the obvious. "It's daytime."

He grinned. "Not right here, it isn't. Wasn't in there, either." He nodded his head toward the Bronze. "I make a little cash on the side."

"So, um, Buffy said…do you like buy blood?"

"I manage."

"She said you weren't killing anyone."

Spike tilted his head, studying her. She was smart—trying to see if he'd confirm or contradict whatever Buffy had undoubtedly told her last night.

"Yeah, well, I'm under strict orders from the Slayer. For now," he added, watching her reaction.

She shifted, blanching slightly. "Uh, right. What orders, exactly?" she continued curiously.

"Well, that's between me and her, innit?"

Spike stared at her a moment. Then he ran his tongue over his teeth and grinned broadly at her, as fangy a smirk as he could give without actually being in game face.

"No worries, Red. Tell you what. As a personal favor, from me to you, I'll give you a heads up before I go off the diet."

He let the smile fade and took the last drag off his cigarette, flicking it to the ground in front of her. "That way you can avoid me."

She paled further. "Yeah, um…yeah. I'm just—gonna go now." She quickly hurried in the opposite direction, going toward the club's doors.

Watching her retreating form, Spike lit up another cigarette and smirked to himself. It really was just too easy sometimes.


	60. Breaks

_A/N: Another big thank you to everyone who has reviewed! It means so much!

* * *

_

Buffy slammed into Spike's apartment without knocking. She marched over to the TV, standing in front of it with her hands on her hips. He looked up at her from his sprawled position on the couch.

"Willow just told me that you're not going to kill her," she said.

"And this is a problem…why?"

"Spike!"

"Right. I'll put it on my to do list. 'Kill Willow,'" he said, deadpan. He tried to peek around her.

"Spike!"

"Oh, what?" With an exaggerated sigh, he turned off the TV and sat up.

"You just can't go around threatening my friends." Buffy moved again to be in front of him.

"Didn't threaten her. Said I'd warn her, didn't I?"

"I can't believe you!"

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist, I was just kidding."

"Kidding about killing her or kidding about not killing her?" Buffy demanded. "Because if you were kidding about not killing her, we need to have a talk."

"Not killin' anyone, remember?"

"Right."

"Right. So why are we havin' this conversation?"

"What about after?"

"After?"

"Yeah. You know, after our agreement?"

"I was just messin' with her," he said. "Havin' some fun. You should've seen her f—"

"She just called me from the Bronze, practically babbling. I tried to tell her she must have misunderstood, but _now_ I've got to convince her you've just got a sick sense of humor. Which is all it is, right?"

"I'm not gonna go killin' your friends."

"Do you not kill people you know?"

"Don't get to know many people," he answered evenly. "But I have before."

"What about people that aren't my friends?" Buffy asked. _God, here we go again._

Spike observed her for a moment, the corner of his mouth slowly curving up. "Didn't think of that, did you? If I stuck around after? You bring me to this nice town, with all these _nice_ people…" he trailed off.

Then he said, "Though I suppose that would make things difficult for you—Slaying-wise. If I picked up somethin' to eat while I was here."

"Yes," Buffy ground out. "That would make things difficult for me. Slaying-wise."

"Guess you'll have to keep me on the payroll."

"Even if I did, you already said you couldn't do that forever."

"True. Though I s'pose I could not snack on the locals."

Something about the way he said that wasn't reassuring. Buffy raised an eyebrow. "You'd stop killing?"

"Didn't say that."

"Is that what you meant by working something out? Weekend trips to the next town over?" She tried to keep her voice from shaking. "That won't work. Whenever you decide that you have to start killing again, you need to leave. For good."

Spike's jaw clenched as he visibly fumed. Then he jumped to his feet, looming over her. "So it's fine for me to leave and do it, so long as I don't come back?"

"No! No, it's not fine! It kills me. It will kill me to know that you're out there killing! But at least then you'd be just another vampire, in just another city that I'll never see. If you're here, and I have to look at you after—I can't do it. I just can't do it."

"You don't have much problem lookin' at me now. Or doin' anything else with me." He grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "What do you think I've done? How many people do you think I've already killed?"

"I don't care! None of it would matter if you could just stop."

"Just like that," he scoffed. "Nice clean mental slate for you. Doesn't work like that, luv."

"I know it doesn't!" she choked. "I know you've done horrible, horrible things. But there's nothing I or anyone else can do to change it. I know what you are. I don't pretend you're not a vampire. I know I should hold the past against you, but I can't. Maybe because it's done, finished. Maybe because I know I didn't have any control over it."

"You want to control me now?" His hands squeezed her arms again.

"I want to stop hurting! This, now, is fine, but whatever you do after—it will affect me, hurt me! If I'm still seeing you, I'm a part of it in some twisted way. I know you're a vampire. But I'm not. And I just can't do it. Maybe…maybe the past doesn't hurt because I wasn't there to hurt. But I'm here now. I thought…if you could realize how much you hurt me—I thought maybe you… I—I thought…"

"What? That everything would change cause of you?"

"I thought we could have a future together," she whispered. "But I guess not."

Spike looked stunned, like she had slapped him. His hands dropped from her side. "Are you leaving me?"

"We're not even going out!" For some ridiculous reason, now was the time that she started to cry.

"That's not the point! You know what we have!"

"We have now, Spike. That's all we have. You've made that clear."

"_I've_ made that clear?"

"Yes! Yes, you have made that clear. The killing—some part of me understands why you can't, but you have to understand that I can't, either."

"What do you want from me, then?"

"I don't know." Buffy turned away. "God, I said I was _not_ going to have this conversation again, yet not two weeks later—" Without another word, she walked past him and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Several moments and tissues later, she came out. "I'm going on patrol."

Buffy didn't wait for him to answer. She walked out the door and quickly made her way down the steps. She was all the way across the parking lot before she realized Spike was trailing behind her.

For some reason, the whole dramatic exit (though slightly less dramatic because she'd gone into the bathroom first) was somewhat ruined when the person she had been fighting with was following her. She supposed she should have expected it, yet she hadn't expected it. Spike was clearly angry with her. He shouldn't want to be around her.

She certainly didn't want to be around him.

Another few blocks went by before she couldn't stand it. He hadn't approached her, but she just couldn't stand it.

Buffy stopped and spun to face him. "You should go back home."

Spike caught up to where she was. "What?"

"I just need to be alone right now. I just—can't."

"Can't what?"

"Can't deal with you."

"_Deal_ with me? The only bloody reason I'm comin' with you is cause you _have_ a deal with me."

"Right!" Buffy yelled. "You're only here because I'm _paying_ you to be."

"You know that's not true."

"It's how it started!"

"How it started has got nothin' to do with it! How it _started_ was me gettin' a call about some little rich girl."

"That has nothing to do with this," she said.

"Exactly."

"You can't have it both ways, Spike! You just said you're only coming with me because you're supposed to."

"Yeah, I'm angry. Doesn't mean I don't care about you. Doesn't change what's happened between us."

"God, I just need some space! I am the Slayer, I will be fine for one night!"

"Gonna 'order' me off then?"

"Would you listen? Should I?"

"Don't bother," he said flatly. Then he turned and stalked in the other direction.

Buffy whipped around and continued on her way. But after getting some distance between herself and Spike, she felt calmer, and pushed him out of her mind, focusing strictly on Slaying.

She made a mental note to call Willow as soon as she got home, hoping that Spike's idiotic 'fun' hadn't made her worried enough to spill the whole thing to Giles.

Buffy rounded the corner of the first cemetery in her path. She circled the fresh graves, waiting to see if any of the occupants were going to be re-emerging. Though someone must have already done so, because she could feel the presence of a vampire nearby.

Moving around the edge of a tomb, she suddenly came face-to-face with Drusilla.

"It's the girl," she said.

"Is that right?" Angelus came out of the shadows behind her.

Buffy slowly backed up, holding her stake and waiting to see what they would do.

Drusilla swayed slightly. "Sunshine, sunshine, all around him. Wicked sunshine—making my boy what he shouldn't be. Burning outside, floating inside." She narrowed her eyes at Buffy. "You're the one that's gotten in," she hissed.

"I don't think Dru likes you," Angelus said.

"It's mutual."

"Now I," he said, pacing closer, "_I_ like you a lot. You've got…potential."

"Sorry, but I'm a one vampire kind of girl."

"You don't know how much fun sharing can be. But then, Spike never liked to share, either." His eyes flicked to Drusilla.

Buffy became aware that she and Angelus were circling each other. They were really going to fight this time.

He made the first move, rushing her. Buffy avoided it, swinging to the side and spinning to face him. He came at her again, and she raised her stake.

Angelus blocked all her attempted blows, their arms locking in a cross the last time as they both fought for leverage. Drusilla continued to dance in the edges of her vision, making excited gestures like she was watching a match on TV.

Angelus won, pushing Buffy roughly to the ground and sending her rolling. As he approached, she swung her body around, kicking his legs out from underneath him as she spun hers in a wide arc. She got to her feet first, but he was only a second behind her.

They circled again, and he caught her with a right hook. She caught him with a left.

Buffy gripped her stake tighter, waiting for an opening. As she watched his every movement, estimating what his next strike would be, it hit her that she was fighting him, actually fighting him on equal footing.

_I can do this_, she realized. _I might not be able to beat him, but I can stay alive._

Angelus lunged, and Buffy caught his arm, throwing him over her. He rolled without stopping and was quickly back on his feet, mirroring her actions as she moved.

Unfortunately, she was so focused on watching Angelus that she forgot to keep her attention divided between him and Drusilla. Angelus circled around again, and Buffy waited for his next attack. She didn't realize that the other vampire had moved behind her.

Until a hand pulled her hair so hard that she was hauled backward and her feet were jerked out from under her. Even as she lost her footing, Buffy had the random thought that she'd been taken down by a chick fight move.

Angelus pounced, landing on her and knocking the breath out of her as she hit the ground. He dragged her partway up and turned her around, pulling her back against him. Kneeling, he locked her thighs between his own as he grabbed her arms in a vise-like grip.

Buffy continued to struggle. She slammed her head back against his, but it did nothing to loosen his hold on her.

"Whoa! Feisty thing, aren't you?" He rearranged his arms, one hand fisting in her hair and jerking her neck back.

Buffy suddenly realized that Drusilla was bent over her and staring at her intently. _Don't look in eyes_, she remembered. She tried to turn her head away, but was unable to do so, and settled for squeezing her eyes shut instead.

She felt Angelus shrug. "Oh well, we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way. What do you think, Dru?"

"Kill her!" Drusilla chanted. "Kill her, kill her, kill her now!"

There was a cry in the distance, but Buffy's own scream died in her throat as Angelus yanked her head to the side and sank his teeth into her neck.


	61. Ruins

Most boyfriends would not have dropped their girlfriends off at an older man's apartment at nighttime to do magic. But Oz wasn't most boyfriends. And of course, most people didn't live on a Hellmouth. And she really was there for Giles to show her a new meditation.

Willow was digging through the herbs in Giles's cabinet when there was suddenly a furious pounding at the door.

From the sound of it, it was about to be knocked off its hinges.

She frowned questioningly at Giles, but since she was closest, she went to look through the peephole window. Her eyes grew wide at the sight and she flung the door open.

Spike stood on the doorstep, cradling an unconscious Buffy in his arms. She was wrapped in his coat and there was a ripped shirt tied around her bloody neck.

"Buffy! Ohmygod, what happened?" Willow stepped out, hands fluttering uncertainly, unsure if she should touch her or not.

"Angelus. I got him off her."

She felt Giles come up behind her. "Get her inside, here on the sofa!" he gasped.

Willow's eyes grew huge as she realized what had just happened, but Giles was too worried about Buffy to notice. Spike, however, caught her look, and _his_ look plainly said that she had better keep her mouth shut.

Of course, Giles probably never even considered the fact that a vampire might bring a bleeding Slayer back to her Watcher's door. And Willow was sort of acting like she knew him. And she supposed a mauled Buffy might startle Giles enough not to realize he had issued an invitation without the usual precaution.

Spike entered and laid Buffy down, unwrapping the coat from around her. "Blanket, Red."

Willow realized Buffy was only wearing jeans and a bra, and she quickly grabbed an afghan from the chair. Giles disappeared into the bathroom for the first aid kit.

Spike knelt by Buffy, carefully tucking the afghan around her and propping a pillow beneath her head. He gently pushed her hair back, saying something in her ear. Willow thought she caught the words "love" and "sorry."

She suddenly felt like she was watching something she shouldn't be. But she still hovered by Buffy's head, anxiously looking down. "Is she hurt anywhere else?" she whispered.

He stood, shaking his head as if to clear it. Willow noticed that one of his hands was bloody, and he was unconsciously bringing it to his mouth, before he seemed to think better of it.

"Does she need a transfusion?"

"She just lost enough to knock her out."

"How can you be sure?"

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Oh. Uh, right."

Spike moved back as Giles reappeared.

Giles stooped down and opened the first aid kit, and then gingerly removed the bloody material from around Buffy's neck. Willow gasped as she saw the wound. She turned away as he began to clean it, looking at Spike over Giles's head.

He looked absolutely sick.

"Your hand," she suddenly said.

He glanced at her.

"The kitchen's there. If you wanna, uh, wash your hand."

Willow wasn't sure why she thought ordering a vampire to go wash up was such a good idea. However, he obediently went into the kitchen. She heard the tap come on.

A moment later, he was behind her. She didn't even hear him. Rather, she suddenly _felt_ that he was there.

She took a step away, removing him from her personal bubble. "Um, yeah?"

He wasn't even looking at her. His face was hard, his eyes focused on Buffy.

"I'll be back," he said in a low voice. "Later." He put on his coat.

"What? Don't you wanna be here when she wakes up? Not that you can't go," she added quickly. "No one stopping you. I mean, where are you going?"

His jaw clenched. "Out for some blood."

Willow blanched as he slammed the door behind him, before she realized that he didn't mean the drinking kind.

After a moment, Giles stood, walking into the kitchen to throw away Buffy's shirt and the wipes that he had cleaned her neck with. He washed his own hands and then came back into the room. "She didn't lose a great amount of blood. However, the wound on her neck was—was quite savage. She—she could have been—it's fortunate that her friend was there. Who was he?"

Willow, who had never been good at lying, shocked no one more than herself when she heard the words coming out of her mouth.

"Someone Buffy knew in L.A. He—he knows about the Slaying. He's killed vampires before." She shrugged. It wasn't a lie.

"He seemed quite distraught."

"And pissed," she added. "Well, he did."

"Yes, well. His last comment—I hope he isn't considering going after Angelus himself. It would be incredibly reckless."

"Yeah. I mean, I'm sure he wouldn't. He'll probably just find some minions to stake or something."

She didn't mention the fact that there had been a look of pure murder on Spike's face.

* * *

Spike had been storming away—on _orders_, he scoffed—when something had pulled him back. Sure, Buffy might not want him along, but that had never stopped him from following her before. And not that she couldn't handle herself, but going off in the state she was in wasn't going to do her a bit of good. He'd just follow her, make sure nothing happened, and _then_ go hit the bars.

However, as he had gone back in the direction she'd walked, it had become increasingly obvious that something was wrong.

He'd gotten there just in time to see Angelus immobilize her and go for her throat.

He'd shouted something—it might have been her name, it might have been _'No,'_ it might have just been a shout—in an attempt to delay for one fraction of a second what he knew was about to happen.

It hadn't.

.

.

The other vampire stood and turned toward him, grinning when he looked at Spike even as his teeth were hooked in Buffy's neck.

She met his eyes with a glassy stare.

Angelus pulled out for a moment to revel in the situation. Her blood was on his mouth.

"Well, look what I caught." He shook her.

Spike made the barest movement forward.

"Ah, ah," Angelus said, his hand moving to her forehead at just the right angle to snap her neck. "I'd like to have some fun with her first, but I'll kill her right here if I have to. Might be worth it, just to see the look on your face."

Spike remained still, trying to come up with a way to get Buffy away from Angelus unharmed. Drusilla was standing just to the side of Angelus, and had been gleefully encouraging him to drain Buffy right there.

For a moment, they all stood frozen.

"I bet she would be fun to keep for a while," Angelus said with a leer. He ran his hand down her body, pulling her hip into him as he made a suggestive thrust.

Funnily enough, that was what did it—gave Spike the opening he needed.

Without warning, Dru suddenly jumped completely on Angelus's back and began hitting him over the head.

"No! No, _no, NO_!" she screeched. "No more Slayers for you! You ignored me quite well enough when you had the last one. No keeping her!"

His grip on Buffy loosened as he tried to bat Dru away with one hand, and it was all Spike needed. He darted in and shoved Angelus, simultaneously snatching Buffy away and backing up.

She hung limply from his arm, like a rag doll.

As much as he despised running, there was no way he could fight them—hell, even just Angelus—and ensure Buffy's safety in the middle of a cemetery. Spike kept backing up. It wasn't running, really, it was a tactical retreat.

He would only have to run if they chased him.

However, that didn't seem to be in the plans for tonight. Having got Dru under control, Angelus merely grinned at the scene before him. His face shifted back as he looked down at Spike. "Well, Willy, what's it to be? Come after me or help your little girlfriend?" He laughed and then turned his back on Spike, pulling Dru after him and promising not to ignore her at all. "In fact, I'm going to punish you _very_ thoroughly for what you just did…"

Bastards—to dismiss him like a— If he didn't have to help Buffy—

But helping Buffy was—he had to help Buffy. And leaving her bleeding in a cemetery, even for the short amount of time it would take to go after Angelus was not something he could do.

He laid her carefully on the ground, cringing when he saw the brutal marks on her neck, the blood still flowing out.

"Buffy…"

"…to…Giles's."

"I'm so sorry, luv."

.

.

Not having anything else at hand, Spike had torn her shirt down the middle, pulling it off and tying it securely around her neck before wrapping her in his duster. He'd talked to her the entire time. _'Hold on, sorry, you're alright, luv, so sorry, Buffy, didn't mean it, be just fine, pet…'_

He would have taken her to the hospital, in spite of her request if she had needed it. But her pulse had been slow but steady, and he could hear that her heartbeat was in no danger of falling, though she had already passed out.

So he'd taken her to the Watcher's, even managed to score himself an invite with no trouble—something he would have internally gloated over had the situation been different. He'd left her there, with the Watcher and her nervous friend, and was now on his way to he didn't know where, to do he knew exactly what.

* * *

-

-

Buffy woke up slowly. It took her a moment to figure out where she was, but after staring at the ceiling for a few seconds, she managed to turn her head and look around.

Giles's.

And then she remembered. The pain in her neck as she moved helped clue her in.

The fight with Spike. The real fight with Angelus.

Angelus biting her.

But then Spike had come back.

_-----Spike suddenly in front of her, his eyes full of hate and fear-----Then she was in his arms, on the ground-----Spike pressing his hands to her throat, tying something around it, muttering incoherently-----Picking her up-----_

Buffy shifted slightly. She opened her mouth to say something, but only a small noise came out.

"Buffy?"

"Ah…"

There was the sound of footsteps, and then Giles's head appeared in her line of sight.

"Buffy. You're awake." Relief flooded his voice.

"…time is it?" she asked.

"Slightly after midnight."

"Mom—"

"Willow, ah, used your phone to 'text,' I believe she called it, your mother earlier. She said you were staying at her house for the night."

"Is she still here?"

"No, she's gone home. Let me get you something to drink."

He disappeared, returning a moment later with a glass of orange juice and several pills.

Buffy propped herself up with some effort. He handed her the glass and placed an extra cushion behind her back.

"What're those?" she asked.

"Painkillers. And iron."

She took a long gulp of juice, and said, "I'm fine. Really. I've lost blood before, and I was fine."

"How much blood?"

_I'd have to ask Spike._ "I don't know," she said. "Not enough to knock me out."

Giles was staring down at her with that stern expression. His outstretched hand hadn't moved.

"Oh fine," she said, taking the pills and swallowing them. "Happy now?"

"Happier, yes." He sat down in the nearby chair and cleared his throat. "The, er, gentleman that brought you in…Willow said he'd fought vampires before?"

"Um, yeah."

"He's rather experienced?"

"He knows how to fight."

"Ah. What was his name?"

Buffy quickly ran through things in her head. _Spike? No. William? No. Will? Too close._ However, unable to think of anything else, she said, "It's Will. He knew about vampires and stuff way before I met him. And then he helped me with some stuff…" She saw how Giles was suddenly looking at her. "Is who I've dated part of Watching?"

"Well," he said, flustered. "He—he seemed rather helpful to you. I was merely going to say that it was quite lucky that he was with you tonight. I—I am most glad you're all right."

Buffy frowned. Giles looked very twitchy. "So where is he, anyway?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, of course. He, er, well—that is to say, he—"

"Giles, spit it out."

"I don't know," he admitted. "He left after he brought you. I think he may have gone looking for revenge."

"Oh." Buffy tried to look concerned.

"I would have tried to stop him, but he was gone before—I mean, he was quite—"

"It's okay. He'll—be fine. I mean, I'm sure he won't do anything dangerous."

* * *

Pawnshops on the Hellmouth had all sort of things. And the ones with the more questionable items in particular were open late, nighttime being when they catered to most of their clientele.

Spike paid the half-demon behind the counter and stuck his newly acquired cattle prod through his belt. He carried his other purchase.

He could still see Angelus, mocking him for his inability to help her, scorning him for saving her instead of fighting—dismissing him as inconsequential, someone to be dealt with at his leisure.

Angelus's gloating face as he drank Buffy down.

Angelus never went straight for the kill, not when it was important. He liked to torment, liked to play, liked to mess with people's heads—things he had tried to teach Spike once, though the younger vampire had ultimately preferred the simple, straightforward approach.

Until now.

Spike smiled a horrible smile to himself.

Let it never be said that William hadn't learned his lessons.


	62. Reckonings

Revenge was a dish best served cold.

However, Spike's blinding rage demanded immediate satisfaction.

So he'd settled on doing something as cold as possible.

His first impulse had been to track down Angelus and beat him until there was nothing left to beat. But that was too straightforward. He wanted more than Angelus' blood staining the ground. That part could come later.

It needed to be complete.

And then it had hit him. It was perfect. Poetic, even.

And it was exactly how Angelus had said to begin destroying someone.

You took away what they needed.

* * *

She liked the bluebloods. To snuff out someone with so much potential had always held a particular charm with her for some reason. She also liked any place where completely oblivious drunks would fall all over themselves for her. She'd picked up Angelus in a pub, from what he'd heard.

Weighing his options, Spike headed in the direction of the university.

After several hours of calculatedly prowling the campus and the surrounding hotspots, he found her coming out of a frat house.

Darla had a boy draped around her; she was more supporting him than he was walking with her. Spike waited until they got some distance from the house before he stalked over and smashed his fist into her jaw.

Caught off guard, she went rolling, her half-finished dinner falling to the ground.

She was up in an instant. Her eyes focused on him in frustration and then uncertainty. Darla glanced at the boy, who was groaning and stumbling to his feet.

"I wasn't done with that," she snapped.

"Not my problem."

He delivered a kick to her ribs that sent her spinning into a tree.

She staggered a pace and then lunged at him. He was expecting it. Spike backhanded her away, watching as her body twisted at the impact of the blow.

He was on her before she could recover, catching her arms and holding her to him.

"What," she demanded, "_is_ your problem?"

"Angelus."

"Go take it up with him, then."

Spike jammed the cattle prod into her chest, discharging it until she fell in an unconscious heap at his feet. "I intend to."

* * *

.

Darla slowly became aware, still feeling the effects of the electricity that had coursed through her body.

She started to move, but realized that her arms were very securely bound behind her back. Taking in her surroundings, she got no further than noticing the wooden planks beneath her before her eyes landed on Spike.

He was sitting on a pile of rubble, smoking a cigarette as he regarded her.

"Hey," he said, without any inflection at all. Which worried her more than the fact that she was immobilized.

Spike stood, covering the distance between them in a few short steps. "Can't have you checkin' in just yet." He stuck the cattle prod into her side, and the world went black once again.

.

She woke up to Spike hauling her to her feet.

Morning light flooded the old house, and he pulled her to the door. She barely had time to realize what was happening as he yanked her in front of him and grabbed a large, black vinyl umbrella with the other hand.

One second later, they were off the porch.

Her legs weren't restrained at all, and Darla twisted her arms experimentally.

"You can run away," he said casually, as he pulled her out onto the main street, "if you want to fry."

He did nothing to tighten his hold on her. Rather, he gripped the umbrella more firmly, locking his wrist into the curving handle.

"I s'pose you could try and take this from me. But you couldn't hold it very well." He snickered.

She knew that she could probably get away from him. But she wouldn't be able to do it without throwing herself into the sun's path. The shadows of his coat and the umbrella secured her in a moving prison.

They never passed into the shade once, never even neared it.

The neighborhood itself had scattered houses, most of them abandoned, and she realized they were only blocks away from the mansion. He pushed her steadily in its direction.

She had never fought Spike, really, but he seemed much stronger than he should have been. Especially considering how many times Angelus had put him in his place. That was a long time ago, but still—the easy determination with which he had bested her the night before was beginning to unnerve her slightly.

There was also something different.

This was not the vampire she remembered. Or even the vampire she had caught glimpses of as he had fought alongside the Slayer.

He was quiet now, driven. _Set_.

Quite simply, something had snapped.

And while she had no idea what it was or what had happened, Darla had the increasing feeling that it didn't bode well for her. Panic was not an emotion she had much experience with, and she found that she didn't care for it.

The mansion came into view, and Spike stopped about thirty feet from the house.

"Angelus!!" he barked. "Come look what I caught."

Several minutes later, Angelus appeared in the shadows of the covered entrance, clothing askew. Dru trailed lazily after him. It was clear what they had been doing.

His eyes widened fractionally, but he said nothing.

"Somethin' wrong, mate?" Spike pulled Darla closer to him. "I figured this to be your sort of show."

Angelus crossed his arms. "Is that so?"

He looked irritated, but not concerned. He clearly didn't think Spike had it in him to do anything.

"Angelus!" Darla yelled, not caring how it looked.

"A blonde for a blonde. Sounds good to me," Spike continued. "Whaddya think?"

Darla looked at Angelus with wild eyes. "Whatever you were planning to do, whatever you've already done, bring her out!"

"What?" he finally sputtered at her.

"Give her back to him!"

"I don't have her. I didn't even kill her."

Darla looked at Spike. He returned her gaze indifferently.

"This isn't a trade, luv."

She simply stared at him, agape.

_-----He'll throw you to the sunshine-----_

Drusilla's words came to her out of nowhere.

"So what do you think?" he asked Angelus again.

"About what?"

"Thought I'd take a page from your book. I think it's fittin'. Not to mention, well, fun."

"I don't know what you think is—"

Darla felt Spike's body shift against hers. "_Angelus_!!" she screamed.

Without another word, Spike pushed her from him and stepped to the side, not even watching her burn. His eyes never left Angelus'.

She was a scream, and then she was nothing.

After a moment, Spike looked at the spot where Darla had been. "Huh," he said, as if he had given it careful deliberation. "You were right." His eyes flicked back to Angelus. "That was much more satisfying."

Angelus, who stood unmoving on the landing, had dumbfounded shock written all over his features. As his face turned to Spike's, there was anger and a disbelieving sort of loss.

Spike gave him a good-natured 'well, what can you do?' kind of shrug, before he turned and went on his way.

He paused at the edge of the property. "Well, are you gonna come after me or help your girlfriend?" Then he frowned, like he remembered something. "Oh, that's right—you can't do either."

With a grin, he spun the umbrella around on his shoulder as he walked away. When he was past the mansion, he tossed it in a ditch.

* * *

Angelus stood frozen in place. His hand practically dug into the stone archway as he stared at the ground.

Darla was gone. He couldn't even see her ashes in the grass. Just gone.

She had always been there. Even when they'd fought, she would come back. Or he would come back. She was constant.

She was the last thing he had seen before he'd died, and the first thing he'd seen when he had crawled out of his grave. She had congratulated him as he'd destroyed his village. Shown him that everything was about pain and death and pleasure. Reveled in the blood he'd spilled as she created her own fountain of death. Brought him back to himself when he'd been lost for years.

And she was gone. Just like that that.

Killed by Spike. _Spike_.

Drusilla, who had been silent up until now, suddenly began to chant.

"There's no helping him now. So faraway, can't get him back. Lost to the sunshines." She moaned. "My Spike walks in the sunshine, walks in the sunshine. My Spike walks—"

"Goddammit, Dru! Shut up about the fucking sunshine!"

She wailed dismally, and that damn dog at her feet wouldn't stop yapping with her.

With an infuriated growl, Angelus snatched up the dog. In one swift motion, he snapped its neck and flung it into the yard.

Dru screeched louder, a high-pitched keening that turned into a wail of "Grandmummy, grandmummy…" as she pushed herself back against the wall, sliding down it with her head between her hands.

Angelus stood at the edge of the shadows, staring into the daylight.

She was just _gone_.

His mouth hardened into a line. She wasn't the only one who was going to be gone.

Drusilla was still talking to herself, a quiet rambling of 'grandmother and sunshine and my boy.'

"Walks in the sunshine," she was mumbling. "It burns. But he doesn't burn."


	63. Reports

Buffy woke up to a hand touching her neck. At first she thought it was Giles changing the bandage again. Then she realized that the hand was cold, and the touch was almost reverent.

She opened her eyes to find Spike kneeling next to her. Buffy met his gaze, which never wavered from hers.

"Stop lookin' at me like that," he said after a moment.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm your bloody savior."

"I wasn't. Wasn't meaning to, anyway. But if I was, well, you did save me."

"If I'd been there in the first place, we would've fought him together. You wouldn't have needed saving."

"You don't know that for sure."

"I think I do." His other hand rubbed over hers.

Buffy closed her eyes for a moment. "Mm. You saved me again. I haven't saved you once."

"I've got one coming, then."

"Yeah, I'll save you next time."

"I'll hold you to that, pet," he said with a faint smile.

The last time she'd seen him—really seen him—neither of them had been smiling.

"We were fighting," she said.

"I don't much care right now." His fingers traced down her cheek.

"Where did you go last night?" Buffy asked.

Spike's hand slid from her face as he tilted his head slightly.

"I killed Darla."

For a moment, she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. It was really the last thing she would have expected him to say. Darla hadn't even been there when Angelus had gotten her.

"What? I mean, I don't—"

His expression turned hard. "He tried to take what I need most, so I took what he needed most."

Buffy was considering the impact of the first part of that sentence when a throat was cleared from across the room.

She could see Giles standing by the open bathroom door. He was fully dressed, but was toweling his wet hair as he looked at them. His gaze settled on Spike and then flicked toward the front door.

"I knocked," Spike said, standing up. He shrugged. "Door was open."

Buffy doubted that the door had been open, but whatever Giles thought, he kept it to himself. She propped herself up and turned around, sitting up on the couch. Spike plopped down on the other end.

Giles sat down in the chair. "Er, did I hear you correctly? You killed Darla?"

"That I did."

"How?"

Spike stretched back, looking pleased with himself. "Well, I knocked her out, tied her up, and dragged her into the sun."

"I say—just like that?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"You overcame her on your own?"

"This helped."

He had a cattle prod.

"And how exactly was that revenge?" Buffy asked. "I thought you would want to hurt Angelus."

"I did. I made him watch."

"You did it in front of him?" That was something she hadn't considered.

Spike turned his head to her. "That was the best part. Pulled her up to his front door and called him out. Wasn't a thing he could do about it."

"Strategic," Giles said, studying him. "Though perhaps somewhat cold-blooded."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "No worse than stakin' her. Bet you set vamps on fire all the time."

"Yes, well, I was referring to the premeditated aspect."

"You only killed her to get to him," Buffy realized.

"It's the best way, or so I've been told." He grinned. "Dunno. We'll have to see if he's off his game next time."

With the cold eyes and the chilling smile, Spike looked—well, he looked really scary. Evil. And completely satisfied with it.

"One down," he said, shrugging.

"What happened to me fighting them on my own?"

"Changed my mind."

"Why don't you just go kill Angelus, too?"

"Maybe I will," he sneered, sounding like a teenager who had just been double dared.

"Oh, no you don't. I'm killing Angelus. Why should you get to kill him?"

"It's personal."

"He tried to kill _me_! Definition of personal!"

Giles, who had been silently watching their exchange, spoke up. "How is it personal?"

Spike turned toward him. "We have history."

"Oh?"

"He nearly killed Buffy here. And he killed the woman I loved."

Giles looked uncomfortable. "Er, my sympathies."

Spike turned to her, dismissing Giles and pulling a set of keys out of his pocket. "I got your car."

She'd left it at his place last night, she realized, as she'd set out for patrol from there. Frowning, Buffy touched her hip, feeling her own keys still in her pocket. She didn't ask how he'd gotten into her house for the spare keys. She was just grateful he hadn't hotwired the car.

Spike dug into his duster pocket and yanked out a wadded piece of green material. He tossed it to her, and she saw that it was one of her tank tops. "I also got you this," he said.

Giles discreetly looked away as she pulled the blanket from her shoulders and slipped the shirt over her head. Spike didn't.

Buffy glanced back and forth between the two of them. Maybe now would be a good time to tell Giles about Spike. He had just saved her life and killed one of the vampires he was related to. On the other hand, he obviously had an invitation to Giles's apartment. Which probably wasn't going to go over well. But mainly, she didn't feel like having any sort of a scene right now.

Giles noticed her staring at Spike and frowned, as if he were realizing that there was some sort of private joke that he wasn't in on.

Then he cleared his throat. "Well, Buffy. Perhaps you should get home. Get plenty of rest. Xander and I will patrol until you're feeling recovered."

She nodded, standing up. The room suddenly spun and she felt lightheaded. But before she could sink back down, Spike looped an arm around her.

His other arm moved, but he seemed to sense that she didn't want to be picked up. Buffy leaned on him as she said goodbye to Giles. Spike half supported, half carried her outside, and opened the passenger's side door for her.

"What's with the 'he killed the woman I loved' stuff?" she asked as he got in.

Spike started the car. "Angelus did kill the woman I loved. He killed her before I met her, but…"

"Drusilla," she realized. "Y'know, you are way too good at this casual lying thing."

"Have to think on your feet."

"So why Darla? Why not Drusilla?" she asked after a moment. Buffy wasn't really asking why he hadn't killed Drusilla instead; she was actually curious about Angelus.

"Oh, he likes Dru. But Darla was the one he needed. It's always been about her. He might've even loved her, in his own sick way."

"So, what? A little torture and then a walk in the sun?"

"Didn't torture her. She got off on that, if I remember. Wouldn't really have done much good. And she wasn't the one I wanted to hurt."

Buffy could care less that Darla was gone. She really could. It was one less vampire for her to worry about. However, it did bother her slightly that Spike hadn't killed Darla because he'd wanted her dead, but because he had wanted to get to Angelus.

She'd done the math in her head. Spike had to have found Darla before dawn, and then sat there for hours with her until the morning sun was high enough, knowing full well what he was going to do. Then he'd dragged her out execution style.

Though it didn't bother her enough to make an issue out of it. They had enough issues right now without adding any others.

"So what now?" she asked.

"Dunno. Hadn't got any further than offing her."

"Well, you can get off the vengeance kick. I'm going to kill him."

"So I'm supposed to get on your vengeance kick, then?" he asked, glancing in her direction.

"That's…not the point," Buffy said. "I'm going to kill him because it's my job. And when I kill him, I'm just going to do it. _Not_ go and do a bunch of things that will piss him off even more. You do realize he's going to be out for us now, don't you?"

Spike looked back at the road. "We'll just have to be ready."

* * *

When they got to her house, Spike pulled into the driveway beside her mother's car. Buffy opened her door, but before she could get out, Spike was there. He reached for her.

"No," she said. "Mom hasn't left for work yet. If I don't walk into the house under my own power, she's going to freak even more."

Spike picked her up anyway. "To the door, then."

He carried her up the drive and onto the porch, but set her down on the step before he opened the front door.

However, there was no hiding the large bandage around her neck, which Joyce noticed as soon as Buffy walked in.

She jumped up from the chair in the living room where she had been drinking coffee. "Honey, what happened? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine now. There was a vampire."

"Why didn't you tell me about this last night?"

"Well, I was kinda passed out on Giles's couch." She quickly continued. "Giles and Willow didn't want to worry you. But I'm fine. I didn't have to go to the hospital or anything."

Joyce got a horrified look on her face. "The hospital?"

"No hospital! Mom, I'm fine."

"But you…were actually bitten?"

"Yeah. Vampire Slayer? Sort of a risk. I lost some blood, but I really am fine."

"Do you want me to stay home with you today?"

"No, Mom—"

"Are you sure? Is there anything I can get you? Some soup?"

"I don't have the flu, I—"

"Breakfast. Let me make you breakfast."

Buffy sighed. Though food would probably be good. "Okay. Some toast and some eggs."

"And juice," Spike said from behind her. "She needs liquids."

Joyce seemed to notice him for the first time. "Hello, Spike."

"I picked her up from the Watcher's," he said, answering the question in her eyes.

She turned back to Buffy. "Now, do you want breakfast in your room, or in the living room?"

"My bed, definitely. I've slept on a couch enough today."

Her mother nodded, and then quickly disappeared into the kitchen.

"Now she'll be late for work," Buffy said. "But I had to let her do something. It makes her feel better, like she can fix it. Maybe she'll worry less."

She glanced in the direction of her room. The stairs suddenly looked very daunting. "You could carry me now," she suggested meekly.

Spike complied, lifting her into his arms.

Buffy leaned into his chest as he started up the stairs. She let her arms fall loosely in her lap. For some reason, she suddenly felt very small. The fact that going upstairs would be exerting herself brought everything that had happened last night into stark reality. It was over, but it was still affecting her.

"Thank you," she whispered.

His grip on her tightened.

Spike entered her room and set her down on her bed, propping the pillows so she could sit up. His face was neutral.

Buffy started unbuttoning her jeans. Spike unlaced her boots. She shifted her hips and pushed the jeans down; he tugged them the rest of the way off. Buffy pulled her shirt over her head. She unfastened her bra while Spike was at her dresser. He threw her a pajama top without turning around.

When she was covered, Spike moved to pull the comforter over her. He looked at her like he wanted to say something.

Then he straightened up, running his fingers through her hair before walking to the door. "Get some rest, pet."


	64. Touches

Buffy had eaten breakfast while her mother worriedly fussed over her. She supposed she couldn't blame her. It was bad enough when Joyce just knew what she did; now that she'd seen what could happen, Buffy expected her to be on worry-overload for a while.

After her mother had finally left for work, Buffy had fallen back asleep. She didn't have class on Thursdays, not that she would have gone if she had.

She woke up to a ringing noise, which she recognized as her phone. It was Willow, who was at the front door and unable to get in. Buffy told her to go around back. She hoped the back door was open, because she really didn't feel like dragging herself downstairs.

A moment later, she heard Willow coming up the stairs.

"Hi, Buffy, how're you feeling?" she asked, sticking her head in.

"Better. What time is it?"

"Just before three."

"_Three_?" Buffy grimaced slightly and propped herself up. "Talk about your marathon sleeping."

"Guess you needed it. Oh, I brought you some special ointment. It's the kind I made to help with the scarring. Some oil, some vitamins, and just a little bit of witchy blessings."

"Thanks." She watched as Willow set the jar on the dresser. "Say, how are you at blood and ick?"

"Um, not wonderful, but okay. Why?"

"Think you could get the first aid kit from the bathroom and change my bandage? Giles has got it winding all the way around and I'm not sure if I can do it yet. And I can't have Mom worrying more than she already is. I should have asked Spike to—oh, Spike! I was going to call you last night. I'm sorry about Spike bothering you at the Bronze. But he's really not going to hurt you. He was just…being Spike. He's, um, got a sick sense of humor. But—"

"Buffy, I believe you about Spike," she said, sitting down on the bed.

"What exactly about Spike?"

"Pretty much anything you wanna tell me about Spike." She shrugged. "Not that I didn't before—I mean, I did, but I was still sort of careful, you know? But, last night…you didn't see the way he was looking at you. Buffy, he'd do anything you asked."

Buffy looked down. "He wouldn't."

"I don't know. He looked _really_ worried. I mean, he wasn't worried you were gonna die, cause he was the one who said you didn't need a transfusion. It was more an oh-god-I-almost-lost-her worried."

"Well, I mean, I know he likes me."

"Buffy, I like you, and I'm sure my face didn't look like that."

"Okay, so he more than likes me." She paused. "I just don't know where we stand. Last night we had this huge fight, and now it's like it never happened. Picking me up from Giles's, doing little things for me… Except he's still sort of being weird. He acted like he wanted to stay and talk or something, but then he didn't."

"He looked really worried," Willow repeated. "It was like, like you were the only thing in the room. He didn't even see Giles; he barely saw me."

"Spike hasn't mentioned what happened. Not really."

"Do the talky thing."

"I guess. He'll be back later."

Spike hadn't said he was coming back, but she knew he would.

* * *

It was after dark when Spike climbed up to Buffy's room. The window was open, like she was expecting him.

Buffy was sitting at her vanity, her profile to him. He knew she realized that he was there, but she made no movement, only kept staring into the mirror. Her hair was twisted up in a clip and the bandage was unwound from her neck. A first aid kit was open in front of her.

Spike slowly walked over and sank down on his knees beside her. She twisted to look at him. Putting light fingers on her chin, he turned her head until he could clearly see the left side of her neck.

The wound was closed and on its way to healing. But it still looked ugly. There were two long curving scabs that traced over her skin in dotted lines. The flesh around them was purple and bruised.

Buffy glanced back in the mirror. "It looks so different than when you do it."

He didn't know how to respond. "I—"

"I know," she said quietly.

"I'm so sorry, Buffy," he blurted. "Sorry he hurt you, sorry I wasn't there—"

"Spike, it's not your fault."

"I shouldn't have left."

"It's not your fault," she repeated. "It's not my fault. It's just, bad luck. Bad timing."

Spike slowly leaned in, brushing his lips across her cheek, and kissing his way to her ear. "I'm still sorry," he whispered. "It shouldn't have happened to you." He slid his head down, planting feather light kisses along her jaw and down the unmarked side of her throat.

Then he froze, lips open against her skin. The last thing she probably wanted was a vampire on her neck.

He jerked back, but Buffy's hand came up to the back of his head. "It's okay," she said, as if reading his thoughts. "It's you."

The pressure against his head became more insistent, and Spike let her guide him back. His mouth trailed down her neck, exploring the hollow of her throat, slowly tracing to the edge of her collarbone. Then he turned his head to the side, letting his cheek brush over her shoulder as he slid down her arm.

Pausing at the smooth skin in the middle of her arm, he pressed his lips into the fold of her elbow before unhurriedly dragging his mouth down. His teeth lightly scraped over the skin on her wrist as he opened her hand.

Spike looked up at Buffy as he kissed her palm. She had her eyes closed and had a relaxed look on her face. He turned her hand over, pressing his lips to the other side of it as she opened her eyes to look at him.

He lowered her hand back to her lap and straightened up to look at her.

"What was that for?" she whispered.

"Because."

Spike reached out to tilt her head to the side again.

"I need to put the bandage back on," she said.

"I will."

She didn't need any more antiseptic, but he gently applied cream from the jar she said Willow had given her. Buffy sat perfectly still as his fingers ghosted over her skin. There was no more need for pressure on the wound, so he taped a square bandage in place and put the long fabric strips back into the kit.

Then Spike reached up and opened the clip at the back of her head, letting her hair fall down.

"All done, pet."

"Thank you." She carefully twisted her head, freeing her hair the rest of the way. "I never thanked you, not really."

"You don't need to."

"I want to."

For some reason, Spike was unable to tear his eyes away from the spot on her neck, even though it was covered.

"Did it—" He wasn't going to ask if it had hurt. He knew it had hurt. "What did you—were you—" Bad enough that she had been alone. But he couldn't stand it if she had been alone and frightened.

"Was I scared?" she asked. "Not really. I knew what was happening, and I didn't want it to happen, but I didn't have time to be scared. I was fighting him, and then I wasn't."

Spike surprised himself, saying, "I was scared. That you were going to die in front of me."

There was a long pause as she looked at him.

"I didn't think I was going to die," she said. "I didn't think I was going to live. There was nothing but right then. No thoughts, no feeling but him in my neck."

Her eyes were suddenly full of water.

"I thought maybe it would just go on forever. That it wouldn't end. Wouldn't stop."

She blinked rapidly as she seemed to realize it, looking a little stunned. "Maybe I was a little scared," she whispered.

Then she moved, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her face against his as her chin found his shoulder.

She held on to him for silent minutes. She shook twice, and then grasped at him in a death grip, like she never wanted to let him go. He wanted to say something, anything, to let her know that he was there. But he was afraid it would sound like he was reassuring himself that she was really there.

He settled for holding her back just as tightly.

She didn't ask him to stay, and he didn't say that he had intended to. But it was understood.

When she finally went limp against him, Spike turned off the lamp and pulled her up with him as he stood. They fell together on the bed, and he tugged the comforter up to cover her. She melted into him with a sigh, resting her head against his chest.

Spike wrapped both arms around her.

"Everything's fine," he breathed. He wasn't sure which one of them he was saying it to.

She answered. "It is now."


	65. Evenings

The next night at sunset, Buffy was knocking on Spike's door.

When he opened it, he frowned at her. "You shouldn't be here."

"Thanks so much," she said, pushing past.

Spike closed the door after her. "I meant that you should be resting."

"I can rest over here. But I've had enough of resting." She flopped on the couch and crossed her legs. "I didn't go to class today and I've watched all the TV I can handle. I feel fine now—Slayer healing. Mom came home early and just _hovered_. I had to get away. She only let me out of the house because I promised her you'd obey my every command and wait on me hand and foot."

"That so?" he asked, standing over her.

Buffy uncrossed her legs, swinging them up in the air like she was going to use her momentum to bounce up. "Well, if I was wrong, I can always leave—"

He caught her feet, holding them for a moment before he sank down on the couch and pulled her legs into his lap.

"—or not."

Spike lightly ran his fingers over her covered shin, then traced over the bones of her ankle. "Wait on you hand and foot, is it?"

"Yeah. Except I'm fine. Really."

"So what do you fancy, pet?"

"You could take me out."

"No."

"Not fair." Buffy pouted.

"Whatever you want to do _here_."

"So if I leave on my own, are you gonna stop me?"

He grinned, squeezing her leg. "Could be fun."

"If you didn't want me to leave the house, you're not going to fight me."

"I could stalk you."

"Then how is that different from going out together?" She sighed. "I don't really wanna go out. I don't know what I want to do. I just wanted to see you."

For a moment, Spike was silent. He continued to rub over her leg, fingers fully against her skin now as his hand slipped under the hem of her pants.

He was always touching her lately. A hand here, a gesture there—always finding some way to be in contact with her. Spike seemed more affected by her near death experience than she was. He was sort of her treating her like she was made of glass, like he was afraid she was going to disappear right in front of his eyes.

"What would you be doin' if you were home and weren't restin' or watchin' telly?" he asked.

"I don't know. Painting my nails, maybe, or trying the new makeup I bought. Washing my hair. You know, girl stuff."

"We could do that."

Buffy tittered.

Spike raised an eyebrow.

"Oh. You're serious," she realized. "You do remember you're a vampire, right? And a guy?"

"Not girl stuff, necessary stuff." Spike raised a hand to his head. "This look natural to you? My roots should be startin' to show by now. Don't want to use makeup again, but I could do with a new coat of polish." He looked at his fingers.

"Yeah, and—wait, what do you mean 'again'? You used makeup?"

"Used to do Dru's for her, after we split from Darla." He gave a rueful smile. "She tried herself, but just ended up lookin' ridiculous. Used to take care of her—hair, makeup, whatever she needed."

Buffy considered for a moment what it meant to have no reflection. Not being able to do everyday things, always relying on someone else to do what she took for granted. Plus, you would never know if you had something on your face. "I guess the whole no reflection thing really takes the fun out of being a girl."

"Knew this one vamp a while back—took a Polaroid of herself every bloody day. High maintenance, that one was."

Buffy frowned. "Spike, how do you shave?"

"Electric razors are a bloody great invention."

"Didn't Dru used to help you?"

"Dru could never seem to remember that the point of her doin' it was _not_ to draw blood. And wouldn't trust Angelus not to cut my head off. Learned pretty fast to do it on my own."

"How _do_ you do your hair?"

"Carefully," he said. "Easier with help, though."

Buffy considered. Stay in Friday night and help Spike bleach his hair? "Why not?"

A minute later, they were in the bathroom. Spike was behind her, and Buffy stood in front of the sink, skimming the directions for the bleach. There was already an old plastic bowl in the drawer that he'd obviously used before. Buffy started to mix the solution up.

"Okay, you have an old shirt or somethi—or, that works, too."

Spike had taken his shirt off.

"Er, are you going to use a towel, or are we trusting that I won't drip any?"

He grabbed a towel—the only towel—and wrapped it around his shoulders.

Spike sat on the edge of the tub, and Buffy put on the flimsy gloves and applied the bleach. After she was done, she put the plastic cap on his head.

"Do you have a clock yet?" she asked.

"My phone. But should be one on the microwave." He shrugged, standing and rifling through a drawer before coming up with a bottle of black nail polish.

Buffy followed him out of the bathroom. There was a clock on the microwave, but it wasn't set, so she hit the timer instead. She looked back in the living room, and was suddenly struck with a feeling of complete silliness.

Spike was slouched on the couch, shirtless, painting the nails on his left hand while his head was wrapped in what looked like a Ziploc bag.

She snickered.

When he looked in her direction and arched a brow, she couldn't hold it in anymore.

Buffy burst out laughing. "I don't know, I'm sorry," she giggled. "This is all just so bizarre." A snort. "I mean, I've seen people dye their hair before, obviously—but, I don't know."

Finally, she took a deep breath. "Okay, I'm over it." She walked over and sat down next to him on the couch. "Really. I am. Oh, come on, don't tell me you've never had a laughing fit for no reason."

"Can't say as I have. Sober, anyway."

"It's just that I never thought about you doing this sort of stuff before. Though, obviously you must. Because definitely not natural."

Buffy reached for her purse. She pulled out the nail polish that was in her purse, a shimmery sort of pearl color, and started her own nails.

There _was_ something almost bizarre about the whole thing, but it was also comfortable. Obviously Spike dyed his hair and painted his nails—but she couldn't imagine him being this casual about it with anyone else, much less doing it in front of them. At least he hadn't seemed upset when she'd laughed. It wasn't him, really, it was the situation. Somehow, helping a vampire dye his hair had become a part of her life.

Spike's hands were dry by the time his hair was done, and although she quickly checked the roots, he seemed to have the timing down on exactly how long it needed to sit.

A few minutes later, he came back from rinsing, his hair damp and curling. And his shirt back on. Not that she was looking.

Spike went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Then he looked back at her.

"You hungry? I could, uh…" He glanced vaguely around the kitchen.

Buffy realized that Spike had probably never cooked a meal in his entire existence. The human food he ate was either pre-packaged or takeout.

"I can totally heat up my own soup," she said, walking over.

Buffy got out the bowl and the soup. However, only as she was reaching for the silverware drawer (or the drawer where she'd put the cheap silverware she'd bought) did she realize that Spike didn't have a can opener. She quickly glanced around, hoping to see an electric one attached to a cabinet. Nope.

Spike noticed her standing there with the bowl and the can. "We could probably get it open with a knife," he offered.

"And get shards of metal in my dinner? No thanks." She put the can back in the cabinet and grabbed a box of macaroni. "Next time we go shopping we need a can opener."

"Whatever you say."

He had pulled a bag of blood from the fridge and stuck it in the microwave. When the timer dinged, he took the bag out and slipped into game face, quickly draining it.

Buffy watched without comment as he sucked the bag dry.

For some reason, she suddenly thought of those juice bags she used to drink when she was a kid, the kind you had to spear the straw into.

She fixed her noodles in the microwave next and then sat down at the table where Spike was drinking a beer. The table wasn't that big, and part of it was taken up by the TV, but there was still room to eat. She stirred the bowl and they ate in silence for a few minutes.

"Do you feel bad about the people you've killed?" Buffy blurted.

Spike regarded her for a moment.

She could tell he knew the answer she wanted, but she also knew that she wasn't going to get it. And she didn't want a lie, really. But she needed to hear him say it.

"No."

"Do vampires have souls?"

He looked at her crossways. She took another bite of macaroni.

"Why, pet?"

"Wesley and Giles said that when you're turned into a vampire, you lose your soul. Or, whatever it is exactly that we call the soul."

"Does it matter? To you?"

_With us?_ he meant.

Buffy considered, twisting her spoon around. "I guess not. But I want to know."

"Yeah, you lose it. But it's not like you wake up and just know. Not like you get a pamphlet on the metaphysical when you're turned. You just sorta figure it out."

"Giles said Angelus was cursed with his soul. That it drove him insane."

"He got cursed with something, that's for sure. Dunno. Didn't pay much attention to him then. He was crazier than Dru." He shrugged, taking a drink. "Darla said she could see it in him."

"So, are you…you, after you're turned?"

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Vampires are demons, right?"

"Yeah…"

She frowned. "So does that mean that you change into a demon when you're turned? Or like the demon becomes you?"

"It's not a sodding body swap. You lose something. You get something else." He paused for a long moment. "It's like you're you, but you don't care anymore. Don't really know how to explain it."

"So, you're sort of who you were before?"

"S'pose." Spike tilted his head at her. "You didn't know me before. What's it matter?"

"I don't know." She paused. "So what about the whole killing family, friends, and acquaintances thing?"

"Some do, some don't. Every turning's different. Sometimes vamps don't care either way. But even if they don't go and hunt you down, they probably won't let you go if you run into them." He paused. "But if you got any sort of grudge, and most everyone's got at least one—well, 'I could kill him' starts to have a whole new meaning. Nothin' holdin' you back."

"So did you?" she asked.

"Did I what?"

"Did you kill your family?"

"Didn't have much family. Only me and my mum by then."

Buffy was silent for a moment. "That didn't answer my question."

"Which was?"

"Did you kill her?"

Spike looked pained. He focused on the rim of the bottle. "Why?"

"I just…need to know."

He sighed. "Kinda. Not so much. But yeah."

"Can you vague that up some more?"

"I didn't want to kill her or hurt her. I wanted to help her. She was dying, had been wastin' away for months. Thought I could save her, take her with me and Dru. But she…it wasn't her. She was so… So yeah, everyone wakes up different."

"What—"

"I staked her."

"I'm sorry," Buffy said.

"It was a long time ago, yeah? History. Done." He took a drink. "Now, acquaintances—yeah, I killed some acquaintances." He said it almost like he was reminiscing, a vague smirk on his face.

"Friends?"

"Friends, I didn't."

"Because you liked them?" Buffy offered.

"Because I didn't have any," he said shortly. "Can we change the subject here, luv?"

"Okay," she said quietly.

It was silent for a moment. Buffy ate the last bit of her noodles, which had gone slightly cold.

Spike finished the bottle of beer, and set it rather loudly back on the table.

"So since we've gone all through my past, how 'bout you tell me yours?"

"Huh?"

He grinned. "C'mon, you had to have done somethin' bad, at least once."

"Not really."

"Nothin' at all?" He looked skeptical. And somewhat disappointed.

"I missed curfew."

"Who hasn't?"

Buffy considered. "I stole some lipstick once."

"Such a rebel."

"I made a boy cry in front of the whole cafeteria," she continued. "I'd already told him no, but he wouldn't stop asking me out. So I completely humiliated him."

"Heartbreaker."

"I drove without a license."

"I don't have a license."

"When we were sixteen, Cordelia and I broke into someone's house."

"You did not," he scoffed.

"We so did! Okay, so it was her boyfriend's house and they were out of town. We climbed over the fence and went swimming in their pool." She shrugged. "It was a dare."

"Not so daring."

"Once I almost got my arm stuck in a vending machine."

"That's just dumb." He snorted. "How the hell did you do that?"

"I was at this hotel and the candy machine ate my money. It was late, so I got down on the floor and stuck my arm up the chute. And then I heard someone in the hall and I panicked and tried to pull my arm out too fast and it got caught. But I got it loose again," she added.

"Obviously."

"I couldn't reach any higher than the first row, anyway. So I didn't get what I wanted."

He was silent for a moment. "So is that it?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Just stupid kid stuff. Boring Buffy."

"Didn't really expect you to have a record. Good to know you had some fun, though."

Buffy shrugged, getting up to wash out her bowl.

Spike followed her into the living room. She started to sit down, but he stopped her, sitting down himself and guiding her to sit on the floor in front of him, her back to the couch.

"What…?"

"Time to do your hair, pet." He took her brush from her purse, and started running it through her hair.

"It's not like there's anything to do—"

"Just relax," he said in her ear.

Relaxing was not hard to do. Spike gently brushed her hair, and soon she was lost in the soothing feeling. He didn't stop once the tangles were out, but only continued to slowly pull the brush through her hair—from the crown of her head down to the ends of her tresses, underneath and upward from the back of neck, over the sides as his fingers smoothed the wisps by her ear.

Buffy leaned back into the couch and draped her arms over Spike's legs, which were planted on either side of her.

"What would you think about me getting highlights?" she asked, eyes still closed.

"If you like." The brush swept over her again.

"But you really like my hair. Would you like it like that?"

"It's your head, luv."

"I wasn't asking for permission. I was just asking if you'd like it or not. Would I look good a little lighter? Or worse? People that don't give you a real opinion when you look awful are not doing you any favors."

"That so?"

"According to Cordelia. Which is why I always looked fabulous, by the way. She'd tell me straight out if I looked like crap."

His hand paused in mid-stroke. "I think you'd look beautiful whatever you do to it," he said quietly.

Buffy tilted her head around to glance up at him. The way he was suddenly looking at her— "Spike?"

There were so many things reflected in his eyes.

"Buffy, I—"

He froze.

Then he kissed her.

Bending down and twisting his head around, he drew her mouth to his in a sideways kiss, his hand cupping her cheek. It was soft and sweet, but barely disguising a desperate need. He hadn't kissed her—like that—since they'd slept together.

Just as suddenly as it started, it was over.

He leaned back against the cushions, the discarded brush falling beside him. Buffy crawled up next to him after a moment, sitting across his lap and resting against the arm of the couch.

Spike looked at her for a minute before he wrapped both arms around her and buried his face in her neck. "I need you so much."

Buffy found her hands reaching up to his shoulders. "I need you, too. I…I'm here."

"You almost—weren't."

He really was taking what had happened with Angelus harder than she was. Of course, she hadn't been able to see what she'd been about to lose. She wondered what she'd looked like when Angelus had had her, what Spike had thought as he'd carried her unconscious form to Giles's.

She knew what he'd thought when he'd first seen her. _"That you were going to die in front of me."_

"It's okay. It really is okay."

"It will be."

He took a deep breath, pulling back and looking at her. He ran his hand over her hair. "I do like it long."

A small laugh escaped her lips at his abrupt return to their previous conversation.

"There's more of it to touch. It falls and bounces. Sometimes it just seems to float."

"I like it long, too. Maybe a slight adjustment, though."

Spike grinned. "I've got another box of bleach."

"Don't think I want to glow in the dark just yet."

"Thanks ever so."

"It's a look. But not my look. Hey, when's the last time you saw how you look?"

"Dunno."

Buffy dug in her purse, pulling out her phone. "It's got a camera on it."

"Those are available?"

"Dad knew a guy in Japan." She leaned in, pressing her cheek to his as she held her arm out in front of them. "Smile."

She hit the button, and then flipped the phone around to look at it. "Not bad." Buffy handed it to Spike.

He looked at the picture for what seemed like a very long time.

"I know you're pretty and all," she said, "but has it been that long?"

"Wasn't lookin' at me," he finally said. "Was lookin' at us."

Spike still had his arm around her, but his attention was focused on the small digital image. Buffy settled in at his side, watching him as he stared at the phone and what he could only see in a picture.

Them together.


	66. Declarations

Buffy went by the Magic Box the next afternoon and gave Giles the full report of her fight with Angelus. Willow already knew part of it, and Buffy guessed that she or Giles had already told everyone else. Which was fine, because she really didn't feel like a big group meeting to recount how she'd almost gotten killed.

However, despite her protests that she really was fine now, Giles said that they had already made plans to cover patrol that night. Buffy gave in, figuring that she might as well enjoy the vacation while it lasted. Patrol-free nights were not something she would have a lot of in the future.

So she watched TV most of the evening. After her mother went to bed, she went upstairs to wait for Spike.

He appeared when she was in bed, coming in the open window. He turned to shut it.

"Leave it," she said. "It's a nice night."

Spike shrugged, taking off his coat and draping it over her chair. Then he came and sat next to her on the bed. "Waitin' for me, pet?"

Buffy was already wearing a pajama top and boxers, but was sitting cross-legged with her back to the headboard. She was in bed, but obviously not going to bed.

"You're here."

"That I am."

He tilted his head and reached out to brush her hair back, looking at the spot on her neck. It was almost gone now, she knew. The skin was smooth but bruised, and even that would fade by tomorrow.

Like it never happened. Only it had.

Spike dropped his hand and just looked at her.

"Well?" Buffy asked.

"Well what?"

"It's Saturday."

For a moment he simply stared at her. "And?" he asked, a slight edge to his voice.

"Duh? Saturday? Blood?"

Spike looked at her in disbelief. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Not last time I checked."

"How can you think I'd—"

"What? Do what we've been doing?"

"You were nearly drained," he said.

"I was not. If I'd been nearly drained, you would have taken me to get a transfusion."

"The only reason you _didn't_ need a transfusion is because you're the Slayer."

"I'm fine! Why does no one believe that I'm fine now?" Buffy crossed her arms, trying to figure out exactly when this had become an argument.

"It was three days ago."

"Slayer healing, here. Remember?" She arched a brow. "So will I be fine by next Saturday?"

He didn't answer.

"So what, you're never going to bite me again?"

"I don't know!" Spike jumped to his feet. He acted like he was going to start pacing.

"Did I get vampire cooties from him or something?"

"No!"

"Then what's the problem?"

"Y'know, if someone had told me I'd be standin' here with a Slayer demandin' that I drink her blood, I wouldn't have believed it."

"And _I_ wouldn't believe that a vampire _wouldn't_ be drinking my blood. Besides, I'm just giving you what I owe you."

He snorted. "We keepin' a tab now?"

"We might as well. Business, right? What with all my orders!" Buffy jutted her chin out, bearing her throat. "C'mon, wouldn't want you to think I'm skipping out on my part!"

"What you _owe_ me?"

"Yes, what I owe you!"

"Well, you owe me six thousand dollars for one thing!"

"Yeah, well—wait, what are you talking about?"

Buffy frowned, genuinely confused.

Spike's mouth was gaping open, like he realized he'd said one thing too many.

"It's nothin'—I didn't—"

"What are you talking about?"

"I didn't mean it," he said quickly.

"Spike? Mean what?"

He looked almost abashed as he sank down on the bed. "I didn't get paid for the last few days of watchin' you." He looked at her. "And I knew, cause it was always cash upfront, but I stayed anyway."

"But you said you were only doing it for the money."

"At first. And I shouldn't have cared, but I didn't want anything to happen to you, and I knew it would. So I stayed. But just now, luv, I didn't mean—"

"Wesley knew," she said blankly.

Funny out of all the things that Spike's statement meant, that was what jumped to the front of her mind.

Spike frowned at her. "Of course he knew."

"That's it. That is just _it_." Buffy jumped up, grabbing her phone. She dug through her desk drawer until she came up with Wesley's card.

"You don't believe me." His voice echoed from behind her.

"Oh, I believe you," she said, punching in Wesley's cell number. "And in a minute we're going to have a nice talk about it." Then she shot him a death glare. "But shut up or get out. I don't want him hearing you."

She started pacing between the bed and the desk as the phone rang.

When Wesley answered, she started right in. "How could you? You just pick and choose what you want to say, don't you?"

"Buffy? What's going on? It's rather late to—"

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.

"Tell you what?" He sounded tired.

"That Spike had stayed, even though he wasn't being paid."

She could practically hear Wesley collecting himself. "I didn't know myself until after he left you."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Buffy snapped. "When you were making your case against him, you never brought up that little fact."

"You were already disposed enough in his favor. I certainly was not going to add to it."

"Convenient, huh? Just left that part out."

"Yes, I did. What would you have had me say? 'Spike likes to kill Slayers. It also seems he's rather fixated with you. Oh, and you owe him money.'"

"I was thinking not so much the money part, but the 'he stayed' part. Even though there was nothing in it for him at all."

"I did what I thought was best," he said.

"Yeah? Like not telling me how long Slayers live? Or like not telling me that these vampires on the Hellmouth were Spike's _family_?"

"And what purpose would knowing their relation have served? Would you have fought them differently?"

"Of course not. But I would have at least known. I could have asked Spike about them."

"And if you had, that would have defeated the purpose."

Buffy fell silent, and froze in place. Her eyes fell on Spike, who was still sitting on the bed.

"You wanted to get me away from Spike," she said after a moment.

"I wanted to get Spike away from you."

"So, what? The whole fighting the good fight thing was just an excuse?" She whipped around, beginning to walk again.

"Of course not." He sighed. "The Council genuinely wanted your presence on the Hellmouth. It was the right thing to do, Spike aside. But getting him away from you certainly didn't make your going to Sunnydale less appealing. I negotiated with the Council for you. I even—"

"Because three vampires to deal with are _so_ much better than one."

"Buffy, he had an invitation to your home."

Funny, she had never considered that. But in all that time, she hadn't felt Spike follow her home even once. "How could you even think—"

"I didn't, actually," Wesley said, sounding defeated.

"Oh, I get it. He's got enough honor not to kill me in my sleep, but not any other kind."

"Spike stalked the Slayer in New York for weeks before he finally killed her," he said sharply. "Buffy, he knew you. He already knew everything he needed to know. How long do you think his infatuation would have lasted? How long before he decided you were no longer amusing? It was only a matter of time. You don't know how worried I was."

"Yes, I did. And I tried to clear it up for you."

"Why are you defending him? You didn't want to even see him, if I recall."

"No, I didn't. But I wasn't afraid of him. I was never worried he would hurt me." Buffy paused, her hand on the edge of the desk. "I suppose I should at least appreciate you not telling Giles about the whole Spike thing," she said, resigned.

"The fact that you had history with Spike shouldn't be held against you."

Oh, if Wesley only knew. She was tempted, for the shock value alone, but kept her mouth shut.

"Still, you shouldn't have hidden anything from _me_. Spike wouldn't have hurt me. He cares about me."

"I did what I thought was best. That's all anyone can do. Perhaps it was wrong," he conceded. "Perhaps not. But you have no idea what could have happened. You don't—"

"No, _you_ don't! You know what? You're not the only one who did what they thought was best. And you know what else? I saw Spike after that night. We had a long talk. Several, in fact. Spike knows I'm in Sunnydale and he hasn't bothered me. And you know what else? Those vampires that were after me? He killed the rest of them. He did it to protect me. For me!"

There was a silence. "Tell me, Buffy, who else has Spike killed for you?" he asked coldly.

_Darla. He killed Darla for me_. "What? Why would you even ask that?"

"I'm sure I haven't the slightest idea. If I may ask, how exactly did it come to your attention that the bill hadn't been paid?"

"Seems Dad has lots of unpaid bills."

"Well, you certainly don't need to worry about—"

"You know what? The thought of paying you never crossed my mind."

"Very well. Anything else I should know?" he asked.

"Probably. Anything else I should know?"

"Probably."

"Fine. Tell Spike he won't have to do anything for free again."

Buffy forcefully hit the button to end the call and then slammed the phone down on the desk.

"I didn't."

Spike was watching her.

"Do it for free," he said.

Buffy sagged, feeling deflated. "Not being paid sort of sounds like the definition of free."

He smirked. "I don't do charity."

She sat down next to him on the bed.

"I did it for you." There was silence. "Because I didn't wanna see you hurt. Because I could keep you from gettin' hurt. You don't owe me anything. At all."

Spike shifted toward her. He traced his fingers over the skin below the hollow of her throat. "Buffy, if—if anything we do reminds you of—I don't want to—"

Buffy looked at him with sudden understanding. She covered his hand with hers. "It doesn't. You biting me has nothing to do with any other vampire biting me."

"It always hurts a little. If it makes you think of being hurt—"

"It doesn't." She met his eyes. "At all."

"Alright," he finally said. "Still not takin' any blood tonight, though."

She sighed. "Fair enough."

Buffy scooted up to the top of the bed, crawling under the covers. Spike started to follow.

"Take your shoes off if you're actually getting in," she said, turning off the lamp.

He made an exasperated noise, but a moment later she heard two separate thuds on the floor. Spike moved behind her, spooning her and wrapping an arm around her waist.

"I can't believe Wesley," she said after a moment.

"He's a wanker. Also thought I'd turn you, y'know."

"Yeah, I mean—wait, how do you know that?"

"Had that conversation in a nice open cemetery, didn't you?"

"Oh, right. You were stalking me. You know, if I didn't like you so much, I'd be majorly creeped out and annoyed."

"I'd never have turned you," he said softly. "You need to be alive."

"But it happens, doesn't it? Someone a vampire doesn't want to kill, someone they want to be like them?"

"Yeah, it happens. Fledges, mostly, turnin' all their pals." His hand traveled upward. "But you lose this."

"My boob?"

Spike snorted. "Your heartbeat. Did you know I can pick out your heartbeat in a room full of people?"

"I'm not exactly surprised."

"Turning changes you—the way you sound, the way you smell. And then there's the somethin' inside that changes." Spike paused. "You always need to be Buffy," he said quietly.

Which was why he'd been devastated when she'd first become the Slayer.

"Spike? Why weren't you upset after you saved me from the vampires who thought I was the Slayer? When you told me what a Slayer was and made me hit you to check."

"Didn't really think it was you. Not then, not really. Yeah, it was strange they wanted you, but how could it have been you?"

"Yeah, if I was the Slayer, I wouldn't have needed you back then."

There was another silence.

"You know you're never gonna get that six thousand dollars?" she joked.

Spike tightened his arm around her waist. "I've got somethin' better."

.

.

It seemed like Buffy had barely shut her eyes before she sat up and found Faith standing at the foot of her bed.

"Nice work the other night. Got yourself some vamp marks."

"Shut up. _I_ survived." Buffy looked around. "This is a dream."

"Is it?" Then she shrugged. "Probably."

"So where are you when you're not bothering me? Is there fire?" she asked, flashing a fake smile.

"Ouch. Low blow, B." Faith crossed her arms. "I think—"

"I don't care what you think."

"Don't you? I gotta say, for trying to be the best Slayer, you're off to a much worse start than me. You got your own vamp honey from day one. And hey, I only screwed mine. I was never on the menu. Well, not willingly, anyway."

"Shut up. What do you know?"

"I know Angelus loved drawing it out, playing little games." She smiled. "But I bet William the Bloody also likes a challenge. I bet he likes them kicking and screaming."

Buffy felt an involuntary chill.

Faith continued with a wide grin. "And what would be better than to have a hand in the making of the best Slayer ever, the perfect opponent? It would make it all the sweeter when he finally—"

Buffy bolted upright in bed. She gasped, her breath coming quickly as her eyes darted around her room, half expecting to see Faith materialize out of the shadows.

"Buffy?" A hand on her shoulder.

She jerked around to find Spike sitting up behind her.

"You don't want to kill me, you're not trying," she blurted in a panic.

"Buffy, wha—"

"Say it, please say it. This isn't some game to build me up and tear me down."

"I'd never hurt you." He brushed a strand of hair back from her face. "Never."

The waking world was slowly coming back into focus. Buffy leaned into him as his arms came up to encircle her.

She took a long breath. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest, so she knew Spike could.

"That bad, was it?"

Buffy nodded against him.

"Faith—she said I was worse than her. Because of what I did, what I let you do. And that it was all just a game you were playing, waiting. I'm sorry, I know it's not—I know you would never. But she made it feel so real, you know? I wasn't sure if I was awake or asleep."

"It's alright, pet. Dreams feel real. Your own mum could be tryin' to off you in one and you'd believe it." Spike pressed his lips to her forehead as he gently rocked her. "Never harm you," he breathed. "Never."

His next words were so quiet against her skin it almost seemed that she felt rather than heard them. "I love you."

It was barely a whisper.

Buffy was sure her heart stopped.

Before she could think of what to say, Spike pulled back slightly and looked at her. He ran his hand over her hair. "Just a dream, luv," he said, louder.

There was nothing in his face or his voice that reflected what she'd just heard.

She realized he hadn't meant to say it—rather, hadn't meant for her to hear it.

"Just a dream," she echoed, on automatic.

Buffy remained silent as Spike slowly leaned them down, pulling her to him as he settled back on the pillows. One hand petted her hair, while the other slowly traced over her back.

He didn't say anything else; if her body was giving off signals, he must have assumed they were leftover from the dream.

But Faith was completely discarded, pushed out of her head by three little words.


	67. Deliberations

"Spike's in love with me," Buffy blurted, shutting her bedroom door.

"Um, okay…" Willow shifted from where she sat on the end of Buffy's bed. "Since when?"

"Last night. Or, he told me last night. Sort of."

"Um, okay…"

"He said it. He didn't know I heard him," she said, walking over.

"Oh."

Buffy slumped against the headboard, only to bounce upright again a moment later.

"Buffy, are you not happy or something? I mean, you still like him, right?"

"Oh, we get along great. In fact, we're perfect for each other. Except for, you know, all the killing," she added sarcastically.

"Which you said he wasn't doing right now."

"Later. What am I supposed to do later? Keep making deals with him for the rest of my life? Such a great basis for a relationship, when I know the only reason my boyfriend isn't out murdering people is because I'm paying him not to."

"Okay, so there are some issues." Willow rested her chin on her knees. "Maybe you should talk to him about it."

"I'm not even supposed to know. How do I start that conversation?"

"Maybe he'll say it again."

"I guess."

"So…do you, uh, love him?" Willow was looking at her expectantly.

"I can't be in love with a killer." There was a short silence.

"Maybe he's changed his mind," she offered. "Oh! About killing, not about loving you! Cause, I mean, who wouldn't love you?"

Buffy smiled slightly. Then, "That huge fight we had? He was definitely of the same mind then about what he wanted to eat." She looked down, shrugging. "It was four days ago. What could have changed?"

Willow paused. "Well, you almost died, for one."

Buffy opened her mouth, but found that she didn't have a response for that.

* * *

-

-

Buffy had come home with him after patrol that night, and they'd curled up on his couch and watched some mindless program together. She'd been quiet the whole evening, but he was more than willing to simply cuddle with her.

Now it was hours later, and the TV was long turned off. Spike was stretched out on the couch, looking blankly at the lines of light on the ceiling that leaked through the mini-blinds. The night seemed quiet, even to him, and he clutched at Buffy like a lifeline.

She had fallen asleep an hour ago, half on him, half nestled in the crack of the cushions. Somehow she'd found her way all the way on top of him as they'd both rearranged positions. Her head was resting on his shoulder, hair nearly falling on his face. One leg intertwining with his, the other falling loosely to the side. One arm slipping off the couch and onto the floor.

She was draped over him completely, a warm human blanket.

Her breath was quiet and shallow in the silence of the night. He could hear her heart beating, feel her blood rushing through her veins. Even as she was asleep, her body was not. So different from a vampire in sleep. He'd listened before, memorized her little signs of life.

Spike slept on these sorts of nights, eventually. But the better part of the time that she lay next to him was spent marveling in her. As a vampire, he was used to reading people, scanning all the little internal signals they were oblivious of. That he did it with her was second nature. It was something else about her to know.

No one else could appreciate the subtle differences in her breathing as she drifted from light sleep into the most unconscious state. Or how her pulse changed as she shifted positions. Or the barely audible sounds she made throughout the night.

Her fingers would twitch as she dreamed, gently closing around whatever she could reach—him, if he were near. Her cheek would turn to his hand if he rested it long enough on her head. And he loved the fact that if she moved away, she would eventually seek him out again in her sleep, even though there was no warmth to draw her.

Most nights Spike loosely held her, not wanting her to feel restricted, or worse, wake up and demand to know why she couldn't comfortably roll over. But tonight he'd locked his arms around her, drawing her securely to him. He was sure he hadn't moved a muscle in the last hour.

Buffy remained asleep, oblivious to the thoughts running through his head or the desperate way he gripped her.

Her heartbeat seemed to penetrate into his own chest, making him a part of her. Its rhythm was reassuring. It had been nothing but steady, but he felt the perpetual need to continually check it, savor it.

Just days ago, it had faltered, jumped and weakened all at once. A moment too late and it perhaps would have died completely.

A moment earlier and it all could have been avoided.

The image of her bleeding out her neck still haunted him. Buffy lying on the cemetery grass with her blood staining her skin, her shirt—seeming a brighter red than he had seen.

The sight of Angelus dangling her at him, smiling with her blood on his mouth, was also burned into Spike's memory, but it was the look on her face as she slipped into unconsciousness that he couldn't shake.

It was sad and desperate and hopeful all at the same time.

He'd almost lost her that day.

He couldn't lose her.

It wasn't that he hadn't known how he'd felt about her until then. No, this was a different sort of revelation. For a fraction of a second, he'd had a complete and utter understanding of what existence would be like without her.

As he'd tied up her neck and talked to her, apologizing for fighting, apologizing for leaving, he'd had the stark realization that even though he hadn't lost her to Angelus, he was going to lose her all the same.

In a different way, perhaps—she wouldn't be gone forever, but she'd be beyond his reach. Just as inaccessible.

She'd made her feelings perfectly clear about a particular subject.

She didn't like talking about the future. To her, there was only the now for them. He caught her looking at him sometimes with an incredibly sad look, like she was trying to freeze the moment.

Because of what he still wanted to do, because of what it was natural for him to do.

There was the chance that she might tolerate his presence, just as she had after she'd first been called, despite her words about him leaving. He could still see her, possibly talk to her. But she wouldn't let him get this close to her ever again. He wouldn't get to touch her, hold her. She wouldn't share any part of herself with him, physical or emotional.

Spike knew what she wanted.

She had no right to ask it of him, no right to demand that he be something other than what he was. No right to insist that he change what he'd been doing for a hundred years simply because he happened to meet her.

And yet, she hadn't. She'd told him she couldn't be with him, told him he'd have to leave, but she hadn't insisted that he change for her—hadn't issued threats or ultimatums. Instead, she'd cut him with the desperate hope in her voice, the pleading in her eyes. She'd begged and cried and talked about the future they couldn't have, and said how he was killing her inside.

It had been beginning to tear at him before this, but some tiny part of him had hoped it would work itself out. Some larger part of him still hadn't been able to concede. He would be losing something more than just blood.

But if he could become lost in her, maybe losing himself wouldn't be so bad.

The only reason he was even considering it was because of how much it ripped into her. How he couldn't lose her for any reason, how it was the one condition to being with her. He saw how fully she could never live with it, how she looked at him, sick and sad.

He didn't want to stop, but he wanted her. Having Buffy with him meant more than he ever thought it would.

He could be what he wanted or be what she needed. It was all a matter of choice.

Life's blood hot from the kill. Or Slayer blood and stolen blood.

A living, dying body thrashing against him. A willing, pliant body beneath him.

The rush of the hunt, the struggle. The peace of a warm girl settled in his arms.

Following his instincts. Or Buffy.

Being what he was.

Or Buffy.

Losing her.

Or not.


	68. Vows

Monday afternoon Spike had arrived at her house almost immediately after she got in from class. Buffy insisted that they begin sparring again, and they had started in on some light routines on the mats in the basement.

They worked their way up to more intense fighting, Buffy beginning to take the offensive to prove that she really was fine. Spike started responding more aggressively, and she had still been doing fairly well until a misstep gave him the opportunity to throw her to the floor.

Now she was flat on her back on the mat, with an amused looking Spike sitting on top of her. She started to struggle, and he shifted his position, moving down to sit on her thighs as his arms caught hers.

Buffy thrashed beneath him as he successfully pinned her wrists over her head. "Okay, I can't get up," she said, frustrated.

"Doesn't look like," he agreed.

Buffy twisted again. "So I'd be screwed."

"Pretty much, yeah."

Spike was holding her firmly down, his hands locking around her wrists and his thighs trapping hers.

She tried once again to get leverage with her leg to kick him off, but he pressed his weight down further. With an exasperated sigh, she stopped trying and went limp.

"So now what?" she asked.

He grinned. "This is the part where the evil vampire would suck you dry."

"Yeah, well, if the evil vampire tries that, the evil vampire is going to get headbutted."

Spike tilted his head. "Stalemate, then."

He didn't seem inclined to move.

"So are you gonna get off?"

"Dunno. I'm pretty comfortable."

"Well, I'm pretty bored. So unless the evil vampire is going to do something else—"

She cut herself off as she suddenly felt something hard pressing into her leg. She looked at Spike. He still had that cocky look on his face, but now there was a hunger behind it.

Buffy froze, trying to decide if this was wanted or unwanted.

Spike's tongue darted between his lips. "Y'know, luv, we could do this every time. The winner gets to have sex with the loser."

"Gee, and you always win."

He smirked. "I'm willin' to lose."

Buffy couldn't help but smile at that.

"We can't," she said more seriously.

She realized that Spike no longer had her pinned. His hands were gone, now flat against the mat by her head. His hips only lightly pushed into her, hovering over the spot between her legs. She could have easily wiggled out from under him.

She didn't move.

Unexpected, but not unwanted, she decided.

Buffy was also wondering at his sudden change. They had fought plenty of times, been all over each other physically, and he had never started looking at her like he was looking at her right now. Desperate. Longing.

The cockiness was gone; there was nothing but a worshipful sort of desire.

"We can't," she repeated, not sounding convincing even to herself. "Mom…"

"Won't be here till later."

"I…"

"God, I want you so much." Spike touched her face lightly, like she might break if he did it harder. "I'll make it good for you."

There was a very good reason why they really shouldn't, but Buffy couldn't seem to think of it at the moment.

She remembered what it felt like to have him buried between her legs, touching her deep inside. What it felt like to have him pumping in and out of her, sometimes withdrawing inch by inch before slowly gliding back in, other times moving so fast she thought she would combust.

Buffy swallowed.

Spike pressed against her harder, slowly rubbing himself over her.

If they were naked, his hipbones would cut into her thighs the moment she wrapped her legs around him.

She remembered what that felt like, his skin slapping against her outside as he stretched and filled her inside.

Buffy felt her body moving, opening her legs and making space for him between them. Spike shifted positions, changing from straddling her to settling against her.

"Please, pet, let me be in you," he breathed.

He said it like she didn't desperately want him as well, like he didn't have the perfect body, like she would be granting him some favor by doing it. He asked, and suddenly she could only think of one answer.

Spike was pressing against her open center. "Please, Buffy, just tonight. I'll make it so good, pet."

There was no reason they couldn't be with each other again, one more t— "It's always good with you," she said.

Buffy wrapped her legs around him, confirming her answer. She pulled his head down, kissing him as his body closed around hers. Spike frantically kissed her as he thrust against her through his jeans, her thin exercise pants letting her easily feel him.

Then he was leaning back, kneeling as he quickly fumbled with his belt buckle and pushed his jeans to his knees. He hooked his thumbs under her waistband, slipping her panties and yoga pants down to her ankles and folding her legs open.

Spike tested her with a finger and moved into position between her legs. Then he was hovering over her again, kissing her forehead as he laced his fingers through hers. His erection was already nudging at her entrance, slowly opening her as he shifted his hips forward.

His eyes met hers, and he pushed in. Buffy clasped at his hands, feeling the sudden surge that shot through her as he gradually entered.

Another moment and he glanced down, watching himself disappear into her. Buffy closed her eyes in completion as she felt the final push, felt his skin firmly nestled against her inner thighs.

"Never thought I'd feel you again," he said. "Never thought…"

Buffy stared back at him. Spike was looking at her with the look. That amazed, breathless look, like he couldn't quite believe she was real.

He wiggled his hips, settling fully inside.

His body covered hers completely, his chest pressing against hers, his face inches from hers. He rested his weight on his elbows, while their hands were entwined.

Spike began a rhythm with slow, long strokes, pulling himself almost all the way out before thrusting back in. He rested his forehead against hers, and after a moment Buffy tilted her head to bring their lips together.

She gasped for breath in between their kisses, and Spike started to move faster as she rocked her hips and encouraged him on.

Buffy kicked one foot free of her pants, and wrapped both her legs around his waist, moving in time with him. His pace continued to increase, and her gasps mingled with his groans as she squeezed him and pushed him deeper.

She moaned as he hit a spot deep inside her, writhing on the mat beneath him. She grasped at him, gazing up to the ceiling as he pounded in again and again. A part of her couldn't believe how fast it had all happened.

Of course she'd had impromptu sex before, but she'd always managed to get undressed and make it to a bed. Skin on skin, lying down, lights out if possible.

It was nothing like this—she and Spike removing only the necessary clothing, fucking half dressed in the dirty basement under the naked light bulbs. Spike desperately taking her as he screwed her to the mat.

His lips slid down her face and he rested his head on her shoulder as he gnawed at her neck. He continued to urgently plunge into her, but he never changed his position, never leaned back to get a better angle. As if he wanted to be as close as possible to her in every way.

Buffy was wrapped around him completely, one arm now clawing at his waist, the other hooked around his shoulder. She gripped him with her legs, feeling his muscle ripple against her as he moved. One foot was still half tangled in her pants; her other heel pressed into the crack of his ass.

Spike was still at her throat, and she knew what he wanted to do. Knew how much he wanted to sink his teeth into her, to taste her blood while he was buried inside her.

"You can," she gasped.

He made a strangled noise. She could feel him shake his head.

"I'm fine." Buffy threw her head back, fully exposing her neck. She brought her hand up to the back of his head, pressing him into her throat. "I know you want it," she said, nearly breathless. "Do it."

And then he did. So fast that she didn't even feel him change, he shifted into game face and plunged his fangs into her. It was sharp and deep and it jarred her because he'd never stopped moving. But just as quickly it was gone, and he was only sucking at the punctures with his lips. His mouth was open full against her, locked around her throat as he pulled down her blood.

Spike groaned against her as he came, spilling into her.

But he never stopped moving. He was almost hard again, the combination of having her blood and already being inside of her keeping him nearly erect. His strokes slowed, however, to deep, lazy thrusts, and he was bumping against her at just the right spot.

She whimpered as she hovered on the edge, and suddenly his hand snaked down between them, rubbing her where they joined and sending her over. She screamed as she came, the high-pitched cry echoing off the cement walls.

Spike was still moving inside her, and she felt his face shift to human features against her skin as he let go of her neck. He pulled back to look at her as he thrust faster, his face twisted in pleasure. She felt him starting to come again.

Suddenly his gaze met hers. "I love you," he gasped. Then his eyes screwed shut as he pushed himself in as deep as he could go and moved his hips against her. His whole body shook before he crumpled on top of her and went still.

He was heavy, but not too heavy, and for a moment they were frozen, both too spent to move.

She couldn't pretend that she hadn't heard the words that time. Buffy knew that orgasmic declarations of love were not always reliable. But there was nothing but truth in his eyes. And she'd already heard him say it before.

Spike suddenly moved, pushing himself up, and Buffy untangled herself from him. He stood, pulling up his jeans and tucking himself in. He started fastening the belt. Buffy twisted her own pants around, threading her legs back through and lifting her butt up as she pulled them on.

For one horrible second, she was afraid that they were going to pretend that the whole thing never happened.

But then Spike sank back down beside her. She was still flat on her back, and he lay on his stomach, draping an arm across her and turning his head so they were face to face. He looked at her a moment.

"I do," he said quietly. "I love you, Buffy."

Buffy opened her mouth, but only a breathy sound escaped.

"You don't have to say anything back. But I want you to know. I love you and I'd do anything for you."

"No, you wouldn't," she heard the words automatically fall out of her mouth.

God, she hated to ruin the moment. She really did. But he couldn't just _say_ that and not know where her mind was going to go. Buffy swallowed, fighting the tears that were suddenly there. "Oh God, we shouldn't have done this," she choked, turning her head away.

"Pet? Buffy, are you—? Oh, please don't cry, pet. What'd I do? Buffy?"

She tried to turn onto her side, but a suddenly firm arm around her middle wouldn't let her. She felt Spike shift his position as he leaned over, trying to see her face.

"We shouldn't have done this," she said. "It's just going to make it harder."

"What harder, luv?"

Buffy sniffled and mumbled.

"What?"

"When I have to leave you," she whispered.

"I can't lose you, Buffy," he said after a moment.

"You're going to."

"I would," he repeated meaningfully, "do anything for you."

Buffy was frozen as his words sank in. Then her heart leapt in her chest. "Would you?"

"Yeah. I thought about it."

"You thought about it," she echoed. Slowly she turned to look up at him.

"Had to. But if it's the only way to keep you, then yeah."

Not killing was something he had to consider, contemplate. "If you loved me, you'd just stop," she blurted.

"If you loved me, you'd let me."

"In what twisted way does that make sense?"

"Doin' what's right for the other person, sacrifice and all that."

"This isn't me giving up my career to support your cross-country move. This is about condoning murder."

"To you."

"It's wrong."

"To you."

"You know I couldn't live with that. It hurts me. Every time you'd do it, you'd hurt me inside so much."

He sighed. "I'm just tryin' to make a point."

"God, why can't we have sex without fighting afterward? It's like make-up sex, but in reverse." She sniffled and looked away again. "What point?"

"You want me to stop being everything that I am. Just like that. Just cause you say so. Just cause it doesn't fit with your way." Spike shifted, trying to see her. "You don't understand that, pet."

"I understand why it's hard for you to stop."

"No, you don't. You can't. It's not just a change of diet, it's everything. It's what I am. It's not wrong to me. It just is."

"You wouldn't hurt _me_, kill _me_," she said, turning back to him.

"Of course not."

"But everyone out there is someone's Buffy!"

He shook his head. "You're the only Buffy."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?"

"It's supposed to make you realize what I'd do for you. I'd only do it for you, Buffy. I don't care about them. I never will. But I love _you_." He said it again. "I _love_ you."

"And you will?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice even. She couldn't bear to get her hopes up again, only to have them dashed to pieces. "You really will?"

"I will."

"You won't kill anyone again?"

"I won't."

Buffy swallowed. "For me."

"Only for you. Always for you."

A choked sob escaped her throat, and the tears that had been threatening to spill suddenly ran down her face.

Spike looked like he was at a loss.

"Buffy? Luv…" His hand hovered uncertainly over her cheek, like he was afraid to touch her.

"I'm happy," she assured him, her voice thick. "I am. I'm so happy. You don't know what it means—" Buffy broke off.

"I think I figured it out." He ran his hand down her wet cheek, his finger pausing over her lips.

"That you would do that—it means so much. I want to say thank you, but it sounds wrong. It's more than thank you, it's everything."

"You don't have to say anything."

"But I want you to know. Even if I can't understand why it was so hard, I want you to know it means everything to me. It's the only I thing I—I never thought we could—"

"I know." Spike wiped his hand over one side of her face. "C'mon, luv, no more tears."

She nodded. "No more tears." Buffy rubbed her face with the edge of her shirt. "I just want to be with you."

"We will be now, yeah?"

"Yeah," she whispered.

Spike pulled her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. His body seemed to wrap around hers as he slowly rocked them back and forth.

Buffy sighed, burying her face against his chest. She felt physically and emotionally drained, and even her absolute contentment couldn't keep her from drifting off. Spike was murmuring nothings in her ear, and she let his soothing voice carry her into sleep.

For the first time in a long time, things felt complete.


	69. Connections

Buffy wasn't sure how long they stayed in the basement. She slipped in and out of sleep, waking up long enough to remember why she was draped around Spike before drifting off again. The mats were really not so soft beneath them, but she didn't want to move away from him even to walk upstairs.

However, at some point she felt herself being carried, and then they were in the living room. Spike laid her down across his lap, putting a pillow under her head as she settled in.

"Mm." She frowned slightly as she closed her eyes. Her head hurt a bit, probably leftover from the 'trying not to cry' cry she'd had earlier.

"What, pet?"

"Just a little headache."

Which was how she ended up with Spike rubbing her head with one hand, tracing circles on each side of her temple. His left arm fell across her chest, pressing against the underside of one breast and resting on top of the other.

It was intimate because it was so casual. He didn't squeeze her or jiggle her, but his hand was draped there like it belonged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His palm lightly cupped her, blissfully reminding her of everything that had just happened.

She wasn't going to cry anymore. It seemed like she had been crying a lot lately—sad cries, happy cries, a single random tear—but she was finished. No more fights, no more wishing that things were different, no more wondering how long this could last.

_No more tears._

Spike continued to rub her head.

It wasn't that Buffy was naïve; she didn't think that she and Spike would never have another problem or disagreement. But the thing that had been twisting her heart to pieces was suddenly gone, removed by his words, his promise.

She had spent so long thinking that they could never have anything lasting that what had happened this afternoon left her floating. There was nothing between them anymore, no reason that she had to try to hold a piece of herself back.

They were still lying that way when she heard her mother's car pull up.

Buffy opened her eyes, tensing slightly. "Do I look like I just had sex?"

His hand paused over her head. "Well, you smell like you just—"

"Well, good for me Mom is not a vampire," she snapped. Buffy paused. "Do I really smell bad?"

Spike leered down at her as he ran his hand through her hair. "Did I say it was bad?"

Buffy heard the steps on the front porch. She moved Spike's other hand from her breast to her waist.

Then she quickly rethought it and sat up completely.

"Your neck."

Buffy frowned slightly before remembering that he had bitten her just an hour ago. Definitely not something she wanted her mother to see. She pulled all of her hair in front of her right shoulder.

A moment later, Joyce opened the door. Buffy heard her set her purse down before she came into the living room.

"Hi, honey. Hello, Spike."

"Hi, Mom."

Spike nodded in her direction. "Joyce."

"Did you have a good day, Buffy?"

"Yeah, um, it was fine."

Joyce looked at Spike again as she sat down in the chair.

"Would you like to stay for dinner? I haven't decided what we're having yet, but I'm sure I have enough for three."

"Nah, that's alright. Maybe some other night."

She nodded. "Buffy said you have an apartment here."

"It's really nice," Buffy added. Okay, so maybe that was a lie, but it wasn't _not_ nice. It was just your average apartment, if slightly on the below average side.

"Yeah, I got it a little while ago. When I came up here."

Buffy noticed Spike's left arm creeping over the back of the couch, resting around her without touching her.

"So how do you like Sunnydale?"

"I spent a little time here before. Not bad." He smirked. "It's got character."

"Oh yes, it's so much nicer than the city. Small towns are always so…unique."

"Mom, he knows about the Hellmouth."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Her mother continued after a moment. "So, are you able to find work here?"

"I came into a bit o' money before, so not really a problem."

"Well, that's nice."

Buffy was glad her mother didn't press for the source of said money. While she didn't want Joyce to think that Spike was jobless and sat around in his crappy apartment all day, whatever money he was referring to couldn't have been gotten legally.

They chatted for a few more minutes before Joyce excused herself to fix dinner. Buffy walked Spike to the door.

"You didn't want me to stay, did you?" he asked. "Cause I can. I just didn't figure—"

"No, it's fine. See you later?"

"Yeah."

As soon as the door shut, Buffy heard her mother call from the kitchen.

"Buffy, could I talk to you for a minute?"

"Um, sure!"

Buffy walked down the hall, unsure of what to expect. It didn't sound like the old about-to-get-in-trouble 'could I talk to you,' but there was a slight catch in her mother's voice.

"What is it?"

Joyce paused chopping vegetables.

"You and Spike seem to be getting along."

"Yeah. We are."

"I take it you worked out the issues, then?"

"We did. So, I guess we're going out or whatever." She watched her mother, who didn't show a reaction one way or another.

"Well, I'm glad." Joyce started chopping again. "However—"

_Here it comes…_

"—I'd rather he didn't sleep in your room."

For a moment, Buffy just stared. "Huh?"

"He has been sometimes, hasn't he? I heard you two arguing the other night."

She must have heard them when they were fighting last Saturday.

"Um…yeah?" Buffy tried to look meek.

"Honey, you're a big girl. If you want to spend time with Spike, I'm not going to try and stop you. I'd just rather you not do it over here. If you want to stay around here during the day that's fine, but…"

Buffy zoned out for a minute. Was her mother telling her to spend more time at Spike's? Wait—

"All we do at night is sleep," Buffy blurted. "It's not like—while you were a door away—we were…_together_—cause that would just be—" She cut herself off with a shudder.

"All right, all right."

There was a moment of silence.

"You do…like Spike, right?" Buffy asked.

"I like Spike fine. And I understand that you want to spend time with him. As long as you let me know where you are."

"Um, okay. Well, I'm probably going over there tonight after patrol."

"All right, honey." She turned to put the vegetables on the stove. "And Buffy? I'm glad you're happy."

Buffy smiled. "Me, too."

* * *

Patrol was uneventful. She and Spike went back to his apartment afterwards, and Buffy wrapped her arms around him after he took off his coat.

"Have I told you how happy I am?"

He smiled, pulling her closer. "You might have mentioned it."

"Are you happy?"

"Course I am." His brow wrinkled slightly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I just don't want you to regret anything."

At his blank stare, she continued. "What you did for me. Chose to give up for me."

Spike's hand moved up to her face, cupping her cheek. "I could never regret you," he said softly.

For a moment, she was speechless. Then, "But…I mean, you never said anything before, that you were even thinking about—"

"I realized something."

"What?"

"That I couldn't lose you," he said simply. "That if you weren't here, nothin' mattered, that I had to keep you no matter what."

Once again, Buffy was speechless.

Then she slowly kissed him, pulling his head down to hers. "Have I shown you how happy I am?"

* * *

Much of Tuesday was spent in bed. Waking up was slow and pleasant, and she realized it was only the second time that they'd had a real morning after together. And only the first time that they had lingered. It was early, and Buffy had no intentions of leaving the spot that she was so comfortably curled up in.

She knew without checking that Spike was already awake. She happily snuggled into him, wanting to feel every inch of his skin against hers. He pulled her closer, pressing her into his chest as his arms tightened around her. His hands ran down her back and she sighed against him, relishing the feeling of being with him completely.

Buffy could hear the hum of morning traffic outside and the sound of cars leaving the parking lot, but it barely seemed to penetrate her mind. The bedroom was peaceful and still nearly dark, and everything beyond it seemed distant and unimportant. She felt like she was in a cocoon—she and Spike wrapped in nothing but the sheets and each other.

It might have been minutes later or an hour later that she felt his leg beginning to edge between her thighs. She wordlessly opened herself to him, craving his touch. Soon he was slipping inside her, lifting her leg over his hip as they both lay on their sides. She was slightly tender from their desperate and somewhat rough sex the night before, but she didn't care. She wanted him inside.

They made love, soft and slow, a blissful union that didn't quite seem to end. He stayed inside her long after they shuddered, and she clung to him as her body relaxed, hanging in that place between sleeping and waking. Sometime later, Spike was hard and started to move again, a gentle rocking that brought her back to awareness, and set the pattern for the rest of the morning.

Sometimes it seemed they barely pushed against each other, as if trying to draw the act itself out for as long as they could. Sometimes she didn't even come. But it wasn't about release; it was about being as close to him as possible. Loving the way he felt inside her, loving being connected.

She would slip in and out of a contented haze afterward, drifting into an almost sleep for a few moments. Until he—or sometimes she—moved or twitched, pulling her back and starting their joining over again. Though once, it seemed that she had only stirred just in time to tremble around him.

The morning passed in an unhurried blur of her being cuddled against his body, of him being nestled within hers.

Buffy couldn't remember even a word being spoken. The silence almost seemed too precious to break. And like this, they didn't need words.

Their bodies shook once more, first her and then him, and Buffy found herself gliding into sleepy darkness once again.

.

.

When she next opened her eyes, she realized several things at once. One, she must have really fallen asleep last time, because it was definitely several hours later now. Two, Spike was no longer in the bed with her. And three, she was a bit sore.

It wasn't particularly uncomfortable nor particularly pleasant, but just an expected effect of the hours that Spike had made himself at home between her thighs.

Buffy rolled over and stretched once before sitting up. The bedroom door was open, and she could see the brightness of the midday light spilling in from the living room. After a moment, she wrapped herself in the blanket and walked to the doorway. She blinked against the light for a moment before her eyes landed on Spike.

He was by the open front door, sitting against the frame as he smoked a cigarette. He was barefoot, and had on jeans and his rumpled T-shirt from the night before.

Buffy smiled. His hair was an adorable mess.

Spike looked in her direction.

"Hey," she said.

"Morning."

"Is it? Still morning?"

"No."

Buffy walked over and sank down against the wall a few feet away from him, under the window where she couldn't immediately be seen by anyone walking by. The open door made the room brighter than usual, and the crisp afternoon air slowly drifted in.

Spike blew some smoke out the door, resting the arm holding the cigarette on his knee.

"You don't have to do that," she said. "I mean, it is your place."

He seemed to consider. "Yeah, well…" He sniffed. "Fragile human lungs and all."

Buffy realized that he never smoked around her unless they were outside. Even his apartment no longer smelled of smoke since she'd been spending more time in it.

For a moment, there was silence.

"I don't know how to do this," she blurted. "Be in a real relationship."

He raised an eyebrow. "Seemed like we were doin' fine when we weren't in a relationship."

"Yeah, but it's like official now. Like there's a certain way we should be or something."

Spike regarded her for a moment. "Tell you what, pet. You just be Buffy and it'll work itself out. Don't worry about what should be."

"I guess."

"Had a bloke before, didn't you? A real relationship?"

"We put notes in each other's lockers and went to football games together. Kissed in the hall between classes and drove around in his dad's sports car. It was all so…high school. It seems so far away, even though it was less than a year ago. Everything's so different now. More…real."

Spike was silent as she continued.

"Not just us, what we have. And not being the Slayer. I feel like _I'm_ more real. More grown up, more me."

"Gettin' outta high school does that."

Buffy arched a brow. "Says the vampire who has no idea what high school is like."

"Or so I've heard." He took a drag from the cigarette.

"From who?"

"The telly."

She smiled. Buffy had noticed that Spike watched some shows that she wouldn't have expected him to be interested in.

"High school can sort of suck you in," she said. "It almost felt like I should be dating someone, so why not him? Did I ever tell you why we started going out? When I was sixteen, I almost drowned. A bunch of us were at a mutual friend's house, messing around in the pool, and I went under wrong and hit my head. They said I stopped breathing for almost a minute. He gave me CPR. I don't think we'd even spoken before that. We went out to dinner, and then it just seemed like…why stop?"

Spike snorted, flicking the cigarette butt out the door. "You dated someone you barely knew cause he saved your life?"

"Don't knock it. You saved my life—I'm dating you." She paused. "Oh God, do I like have a complex or something?"

Spike snorted. "Two is not a complex. And you know me." He stood and closed the door.

"Tell me something about you that I don't know."

"Such as?" He sank down beside her.

"Something that you think I, as an official girlfriend, should know. Like…when's your birthday?"

"Not really important."

Buffy pouted. "Then how am I supposed to get you a present?"

"Haven't had a birthday in a long time, luv. Not gettin' any older."

She supposed he had a point there. And there really was no reason vampires would be into birthdays.

"Please tell me you don't celebrate your death day or whatever."

"Nope. Don't pay it any mind."

She was oddly relieved at that, though something still felt like it was missing. But maybe things like birthdays didn't matter after such a long time.

"Feel free to buy me presents whenever you want, though." He grinned.

"Ha ha. Okay, well, what's your last name? I'm guessing it isn't 'the Bloody.'"

Spike was silent for a moment. "One condition, though."

She frowned slightly, but agreed. "Okay. What?"

"Don't go tellin' anyone else," he said seriously. "I don't need anyone diggin' through my past."

Buffy started to say that his past was already pretty dug through, before she realized that he meant his human past. From what little he'd said to her about it, she'd realized it was something he was sensitive about. She hadn't meant to get into it now, really. But birthdays and last names were usually common and safe subjects to inquire about.

"I won't," she said.

"It's Pratt." He paused. "And I was born in May."

"Thank you."

He gave a half shrug.

"Here, I'll tell you something about me that you don't know. My middle name is Anne."

"Knew that."

"How—?" she started. Then she remembered another conversation where he'd admitted to knowing her phone number, among various other facts. "Wesley and his forms take the fun out of everything. Well, at least you'll have no excuse if you forget my birthday, which I very much celebrate, by the way. Feel free to buy me presents."

"Noted."

Buffy thought for a moment more. "Okay, no one knows this. The day you left our house in L.A. and said that you couldn't see me again, that night I went into the guest room and slept on the bed. Mom had already taken your sheets off, but I still felt…closer to you. I wondered where you were. I think I wondered about you all day that day."

Spike didn't say anything.

"What did you do that day?" she asked.

"Tried not to think about you."

"We had messy timing, huh?"

"Yeah." Then Spike smirked. "You should've crawled into the bed before, luv. When the sheets were still on it."

"And you were still in it?" Buffy laughed. "Easy for you to say now. That wouldn't have happened for so many reasons, and you know it."

"Yeah." Spike paused. "Once, when you were in class when I was watchin' you, I was bored and was scribbling stuff. Don't even remember what I was writing. But your name was there, mixed in with all of it."

Buffy couldn't help it, she giggled. "Oh my God, that is so cute."

"Shut up," he said without feeling.

"But it totally is." She grinned. "That's like writing your name with your crush's to see how they look together."

"I didn't write it on purpose. I was just messin' around, and suddenly it was there."

"I know. But that's even better."

He was beginning to look somewhat put off.

"Don't start with that," Buffy said. "You teased me about the bed thing, saying I should have jumped in there with you."

Spike curled his tongue behind his teeth. "We could jump in right now."

"Maybe later. I want to get cleaned up. And I'm starving."

"Alright." He stood, pulling her with him. "You take a nice bath and I'll go get you somethin' to eat."

"You don't have to go out. I've got stuff here."

"I don't mind. Need some smokes, anyway. What do you want?"

She paused, considering. It was the afternoon, so she wasn't really in the mood for breakfast, but she also didn't feel like anything heavy or too 'real food.' "How about some cinnamon sticks from the pizza place on the corner? Maybe a salad?"

He nodded.

Buffy discarded the blanket and went into the bathroom. She knelt and turned on the faucet in the tub as Spike sat on the floor by the bedroom door, lacing up his boots.

Swirling her hand around in the water, Buffy mixed the cool water with the warm that had begun to flow. Maybe real wasn't so hard after all.


	70. Days

_A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying the story!_

* * *

How hard was it to steal a car with gas already in it?

Apparently it was beyond the capabilities of his minions. Irritated, Angelus pulled over at the next late night convenience store they passed. He didn't have time this.

"Why don't you go in and pay, Dru?"

"I am a bit hungry," she said, slipping out the door.

Drusilla came back while he was filling up the tank. She licked her bloodstained lips.

Two minutes later, they were back on the highway.

"I just remembered I'm cross with you," she announced. "I haven't any pet now."

Angelus tightened his hands on the wheel. She had wailed for days about Darla, but the second they'd left Sunnydale, she'd started in about not having her dog anymore. "I'll get you a new dog. Would you like that?"

"Oh, yes!" Drusilla clapped. "But what will you get?"

He smiled. "I need to hunt down several things."

"May we have another party? I would so like one when we return."

"Of course." Angelus looked back at the road. "But we have to get ready for the guests of honor first."

-

-

* * *

Spike was being weird.

Weird for Spike even, which was, well, weird.

For starters, he was stalking her again.

Okay, so maybe stalking was the wrong word. But he was loitering in the commons area outside her classroom. She hadn't seen him—and she knew she'd left him at his apartment when she'd gone to class—but she could _feel_ him on the other side of the wall.

When the lecture was over, Buffy filed out with the other students. She found him sprawled on one of the couches. He looked up at her, arms crossed behind his head. For some reason, she noticed he was wearing his red shirt. She hadn't seen him in anything but black in forever.

"Done with class?"

"For some reason, I think you know that I am."

He grinned and sat up.

"You've been out here for a long time."

"Got nothin' else to do."

"Uh-huh. Cute as this may be, let's not make it a habit." Buffy adjusted her bag. "I don't need a codependent vampire who can't be left by himself for a few hours."

"Came to take you out."

"Oh. Well, okay. But I was coming back, you know. Besides, what if Willow saw you? There aren't too many vamps out during the day."

"You'd be surprised. A blanket will get you pretty far," he said, standing up. "I used to have this old Desoto—blacked the windows out and went down the road as free as you please."

"That's strangely not comforting. Now I have to worry about vampires in the daytime."

"Only the daring ones."

They started to walk.

"So where are we going?" she asked brightly.

* * *

It was a nice restaurant, though not a super fancy restaurant. But it was also the middle of the afternoon, and they were relatively alone in their secluded booth at the back. All of the tables had single carnations in bud vases and white votive candles.

It was like a date.

Buffy looked at her menu, and after deciding what she wanted, closed it. She absently played with the flower in the vase and happened to see what part of the menu Spike was looking at.

"Please don't order a rare steak," Buffy said, leaning in. "I can watch you drink a bag of blood, but I can't watch anyone eat a bloody piece of meat."

He just smirked at her. But he ordered one medium done with a side of potatoes.

After the waiter was gone, she raised a brow and said, "Garlic mashed potatoes? Is that a benefit of the—you know." She played with her bracelet.

"Hardly. Garlic is an overrated myth. Very tasty."

Buffy reached into her purse, quickly flipping open her mirror and checking her lipstick. "I'm supposed to be at the Magic Box later, so after this I should probably go. But thank you for this. It's really nice."

Spike nodded. His hand moved against the table as he looked at her. "You comin' over after?"

It was so cute the way he tried to sound casual.

She nodded. Then she took a breath. "In fact…if you don't, you know, mind, I thought I might start staying over more."

Spike tilted his head just a bit, staring at her intently. "Why would I mind, Buffy?"

"I don't know. I guess you wouldn't. But it is your place. You might want alone time, without someone there every waking minute."

"I've been alone long enough."

"Oh…" Buffy trailed off. She looked down, unsure of what to say.

"Don't look like that, pet. Wasn't so bad." His hand covered hers for a moment. "Point is, you'll never hear me complaining that you want to be around."

Then he smirked. "Though who knows, _you_ might end up gettin' sick of me."

Buffy smiled. "As if. Not going to happen." Then she paused. "But seriously, though, you can't follow me to class. You were out there for almost two hours—much longer than needed just to pick me up."

"Missed you."

He looked just like a little boy, ducking his head slightly, looking at her from under his lashes.

She bit back a smile. "We just spent the last twenty-four hours together."

"First days of an 'official' relationship," he said. "Codependency comes with the territory."

"Ha ha, very funny. But seriously."

"Alright." Then Spike gave her a suggestive look, grinning with his tongue behind his teeth. "Know what else comes with the territory?"

The way he was suddenly looking at her sent a shiver through her system.

"I think so," she said, flushing slightly.

"Course, you'll have to explain to your mum where you're disappearin' to every night."

Buffy glanced at the table, running her nail along the edge. "Yeah…that's the other thing. She kind of already knows. In fact, she kind of said you weren't allowed to sleep at the house anymore."

"Figured it out, did she?"

"Yeah."

"Smart lady, your mum."

"Yep." Buffy gave an exaggerated nod. "She also sort of encouraged me to spend more time with you."

Spike grinned. "Very smart."

* * *

Late in the afternoon, she went by the Magic Box. Willow was helping a customer while Anya stood near the door, ready to pounce on someone as they came in.

But as no one immediately arrived to spend their money, she walked up to Buffy after a moment.

"So. Giles said your hot and dangerous boyfriend dusted Darla."

Giles looked up from where he sat at the table. "I beg your pardon. I'm quite certain I did not describe him as 'hot and dangerous.'"

Anya frowned. "Maybe it was Xander who said he was hot. Is he hot?"

Xander sputtered. "I said he was mysterious. We're talking about the same mysterious guy Buffy danced with at the Bronze, right?" He looked at Willow.

She nodded from behind the counter.

"See? Mysterious. And strong, what with killing the vampires." Xander grinned, looking at Buffy. "So Buffy likes the bad boys."

"He's not—" Buffy cut herself off. _Okay, so Spike's pretty much the definition of bad boy._

Giles cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "Buffy, I realize it's hardly my place to comment on certain aspects of your personal life, but I do hope you haven't gotten involved with anyone…well, dangerous."

"I haven't. He's not—not anymore."

"Anymore?"

_Now would be a good time to tell him and get it over with. / No, not all at once while everyone is standing here listening._

"Well, I mean… Everyone has a past, don't they? But it's over—in the past. Besides, I'm the Slayer. Not like I have to worry about a violent boyfriend."

"Yes, well, there are other things—"

"If he wasn't a little dangerous, I might not be alive," she interrupted. "Besides killing Darla, he did save me from Angelus."

Giles sighed. "Quite right, I suppose. But do be careful."

Anya spoke up. "If I still had my powers, I'd offer you vengeance. Even though you weren't scorned by Angelus, I'd make an exception. You needed avenging."

"Um, thanks. All avenged here, though."

"And Buffy," Giles said, "I thought we might continue our sessions again, since you're fully recovered."

She nodded. She had to be ready the next time she was confronted by Angelus.

A moment later, Willow caught her eye, and Buffy followed her into the stockroom. Willow pulled her to the back.

"Start talking, missy."

Buffy gave her a puzzled look.

"Oh, no," Willow said. "You don't get off that easily. Every time I've seen you today, you've been all floaty. Something happened with Spike, didn't it?"

"Yeah…"

"Well?"

Buffy smiled happily, glad she could tell someone what was really going on. "He's going to stay. He promised he's not going to kill anymore. We're together. Together together. It's official. And I just feel so happy, and almost…relieved, like I don't have to worry and wonder when it's all going to end. Because it's not."

Willow beamed. "I was right, he changed his mind. Did it have to do with Angelus?"

"Yeah, he said it made him realize things."

"Yay! So now you're all happy couple! Ooh, we could go on double dates."

Buffy shifted. "I don't know, Spike's sort of a loner. Well, in a weird way." She thought back to what he'd said about having been alone long enough. "But I don't think he's big on group activities."

"So… Are you going to tell Giles?" she ventured.

"I am. The next really good opportunity that comes up. Really. I just have to figure out what to say."

* * *

-

-

The next day, Buffy and Spike were in the basement getting ready to spar.

Buffy had just finished dragging the mats to the center of the room. She stood by the edge and rocked on her heels. "Well, let's get started."

Spike was looking at her strangely, like he was deliberating about something.

"I'm gonna start aiming for your head more," he informed her.

For a moment, she stared at him. Then she realized that in their sessions together, while he didn't completely avoid her face, it was never his first target.

Buffy also realized what was behind this sudden announcement.

"Angelus didn't get me because he hit me in the face."

He sniffed. "You still need more practice."

"He got me because Drusilla went all girl fight. So hey, if you wanna work on that, I'm game. You can pull my hair, grab me by the bra straps, and try to yank my earrings out."

"You're wearing studs," he said flatly.

Buffy glared at him. "Look, what I _need_ is practice fighting with two opponents."

Spike seemed to consider. "Alright. Good point."

He looked around the basement and then dragged an old wooden chair over. He set it on the concrete about a foot away from the edge of the mat.

"That," he said, pointing, "is Angelus. He's just gonna watch. But if you get too close, he'll kill you. And besides tryin' to kill you myself, I'm gonna push you toward him."

It was actually a fairly good training plan. If Buffy ended up with her back to the chair, she lost. She had to keep track of Spike and the place where her second opponent was. It was somewhat limited, in that the chair was always stationary, whereas a real opponent could move as she did. But it was effective in that it made her think about more than what was in front of her.

After a while, they switched to another tactic, pretending the chair was Willow, or 'some other bird you feel the need to defend.' She fought with Spike in a different way—his sole purpose being to get past her and kill the chair.

They went on to regular sparring towards the end, which was when her mother walked halfway down the stairs. Buffy hadn't heard her come in, of course.

"Buffy? Are you down here?"

"Yeah, Mom!"

She paused, looking up.

"What are you doing, honey?"

"Sparring. Spike's helping me train."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Um, he goes patrolling with me, too."

"Oh," Joyce said, frowning slightly. "Well…that's nice. I'm starting dinner in half an hour or so, if you want to stay, Spike."

Buffy looked back at Spike as her mother walked up the stairs. "I think that's probably enough for today."

He nodded, helping her put the mats back up against the wall.

She paused, leaning back against the upright mat. "Do you think it's bad we haven't heard anything from Angelus?"

"Maybe."

Buffy raised an eyebrow.

"Probably," he admitted.

"That's what I thought. I figured he'd be tearing up the town, but nothing's happened. It's like he disappeared. Is he the plotting type?"

"Not usually. With this, he might be."

"So it's probably really bad that he hasn't come to find us yet."

"We can go up to the mansion, check it out."

"If I go there, I've got to be able to kill him." She sighed. "I don't think I can yet. But I was ready to fight him again if I saw him. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, pet."

Two seconds later, the basement door opened and Joyce was back, hovering on the stairs. "Honey, I'm not sure how I feel about this. You're a slayer, you've got these powers— And your friends are like professionals, aren't they? But Spike could get hurt. Him helping you here is one thing, but going out every night?"

"Mom—"

"Not that—I'm sure you can handle yourself," she said, looking in his direction, "but these aren't people you're fighting."

Buffy sighed, arms falling to her sides. She just couldn't handle lying to another person.

"Mom, Spike's a vampire."


	71. Confessions

"Mom, Spike's a vampire. Okay? He's got super strength and all that, so we're both fine."

"He…?"

"He's a vampire." Buffy walked over to the stairs, Spike trailing behind her. "Look, it's all fine," she said, starting up. "I'll explain."

Spike leaned against the railing of the stairs, looking up at Joyce.

"So," she started awkwardly, obviously searching for something to say. "Have you always been a vampire?"

"No."

Relief washed over her features.

Much as he liked the lady, it was too good to pass up. "Just for the last hundred years or so." He grinned.

"Oh." Confusion spread across her face. "Oh." Joyce frowned. "Buffy?"

"In a minute, Mom. I promise."

Joyce looked back down at him. "But you're not all…" She gestured vaguely toward her own face.

"Not all the time. Wouldn't be convenient."

"Vampires can look normal, remember, Mom?"

Buffy prodded her mother to go up the stairs, and they ended up in the kitchen together. Spike disappeared at a look from Buffy, letting himself out the front door.

Joyce sat down at the counter.

"So…Spike was a vampire before?"

"Yeah." Buffy sat down as well. Even though she hadn't really intended to blurt about Spike, she felt oddly relieved at talking to her mother.

"Did you know?"

"Not at first."

"Buffy, I don't understand. After what you told me about vampires—"

"I know, I know. But, Spike's…different. Really."

"So he's a good vampire?" she asked.

_-----"Is this the part where you tell me Spike is a good vampire?"  
"Not exactly." Wesley paused again.-----_

"Yes," Buffy said. "He's a good vampire." There was no way she was going into the whole situation with her mother. Spike was going to be good, and that was all Joyce needed to know, at least for now. If her mother asked questions about his past later, she'd deal with it then. This was going to be a hard enough conversation as it was.

"I like him," Buffy continued, "and he likes me. And that's not going to change. You liked him before you knew he was a vampire."

"I didn't say I dislike him now. It's just a lot to take in." Joyce laughed, shaking her head. "Here I was, glad you had a boyfriend to do normal things with, and all this time he's been a vampire and has been helping you slay things."

"We do normal things." Buffy pouted. "We watch TV and go out. Just yesterday we went on a date. He paid," she added, like that confirmed it.

Her mother frowned, as if remembering something. "Buffy, you said vampires can't be out in the daytime."

"Yeah, that's a…Spike thing. He's special. But it's important that no one else know that. In fact, don't mention that Spike's a vampire at all."

"Your friends don't know?"

"Well, Willow does. But vampires and vampire Slayers aren't really supposed to be mixy."

"But you were with him before you were the Slayer?"

"Yeah, but the whole Slayer thing sort of complicated it. And there were other things…" She swiveled her stool around, resting an elbow on the countertop.

"I'm guessing these were the issues you had to work out?"

Buffy nodded. "But we figured it all out."

"So you knew…when?"

"Before he left the house. I saw him in a mirror. Or, didn't see him. And after that it was strange, but I still liked him. I saw him afterward, and things…didn't work like they had. And after I became the Slayer it was weird and neither of us knew how to be. It was complicated and I didn't want to see him.

"But I needed someone to help me, and he was the best and I knew he would do it. We made a deal, that he would come with me and fight the vampires here—for several reasons, even though we weren't together. But seeing him again, things ended up happening. I think it took us both a while."

Her mother remained silent, processing the information. "I see."

"And he sort of has history with the vampires I'm fighting. Like they're his ex-girlfriend and this other guy."

"Oh." Joyce paused. Then she said, "Is he the one Spike's girlfriend dumped him for?"

"Huh? I mean, yeah, but how do you know that?"

Her mother gave her a long-suffering look. "I told you Spike and I talked about this."

"Oh, right." Buffy did remember Joyce questioning her the last time she had mentioned Drusilla.

"He said it was a long time ago, but that she left him for…well, I wasn't really sure who. Someone he seemed to have a love/hate relationship with."

"Yeah…definitely on the hate now."

It was sort of weird to think that her mother had known about Spike's love life before she herself had.

Joyce frowned, as if realizing something. "How—how long ago was it? Really?"

Buffy fidgeted, knowing where this was going. "I'm not sure exactly. Maybe twenty years?"

"Twenty years," she echoed. "And just now, he…he said a hundred. Is Spike a hundred years old?"

"Um, something like that. Sort of what happens if you're a vampire. But it's not like he's some old geezer. I mean, it's not…that weird…"

"Do vampires stay the same?"

"Yeah," Buffy said quietly.

"What happens later, then?"

"I don't know. We'll figure it out. I'll catch up—he looks about thirty something."

Buffy didn't bring up the fact that she didn't know how old she would be getting, even with Spike helping her. She didn't like to think about it, and she was sure her mother wouldn't like to think about it.

"You know that vampire that bit me? Spike saved me," she said, changing the subject.

"He brought you home that day," her mother said, obviously remembering.

"He also saved me this other time. And another time, too," she added.

"Trying to make him look good?"

"Is it working?" Buffy smiled.

"It's not hurting," she admitted. Then her mother paused for a long moment. "I suppose that being the Slayer, having someone you can rely on—for everything in your life—is important."

Buffy had never thought of it quite that way before, but it was true. "It is."

Joyce sighed. "I'm still not quite sure what to think. It's not exactly news a mother expects to hear. But then, nothing you've told me recently has been. I suppose…I'll get used to it. But I fully expect him to stay for dinner sometime," she said. Then her look shifted. "He does eat, doesn't he?"

"Yeah."

"But does he…drink blood, too?"

"Kinda goes with the definition of vampire, Mom."

Joyce grimaced. "I hate to ask, but—"

"He steals it from the hospital," Buffy said flatly, a note of disapproval creeping into her voice. "But that's much better than how other vampires get it, so I can't really complain."

She wasn't going to mention his other source of blood. Besides being something that no one needed to know, it was private, personal. Telling someone that would be as bad as discussing her sex life.

"All right," her mother said again. "I'm sure you know what you're doing." It came out as a question.

"I do. Really. Spike makes me happy. But it's more than that. We work; we're right for each other."

"All right." She stood. "Are you staying here tonight?"

"I wasn't planning on it," Buffy said carefully, wondering if her mother was now reconsidering the whole 'go spend more time with Spike' thing. "Is there some reason why I should?"

"No, I suppose not." Joyce looked down at her. "You're a grown girl."

"Okay…"

When her mother didn't say anything else, Buffy got up, too. "Well, I have some things to do…"

"Of course, honey." She nodded, and pulled Buffy into a quick hug.

Joyce waited until Buffy was upstairs before she went to the cabinet and poured herself a glass from the rarely used decanter.

After news like that, she thought she deserved it.

* * *

Just before dusk, Buffy arrived at Spike's. She had a bag on her shoulder packed with extra clothes. If she was over here more, she needed a few more things to wear.

"I won't take up much room," she said. "Just a drawer or two. You do have a drawer?"

"Got several."

He gestured for her to go on ahead, and Buffy walked into the bedroom. Immediately she noticed that there was a brand new comforter on the bed.

"What's this?"

Spike came up behind her. "What's it look like?"

"Where did you get it?"

"The store," he said, like it was obvious. "Picked it up earlier."

Buffy looked back at the comforter. It was dark red and looked very cozy.

"But why?" she asked, setting down her bag.

"You said you were cold," he muttered.

She frowned, vaguely remembering burrowing deeper under the covers several times that morning.

"Oh. Well…"

Spike had gone out and bought something just to make her more comfortable. "Thank you," she said, sitting down on the bed. She bounced once, running her hands over the material. "It's very soft."

He shrugged and nodded, managing to look indifferent and pleased at the same time.

Spike sat down next to her on the bed, and Buffy flopped back, looking up at him. She grinned. "Now you just need a throw pillow or two, a rug, maybe a lamp…"

"Already tellin' me how to decorate?"

"I'm not telling you _how_ to decorate, I'm just telling you to decorate. I don't care if you do black leather couches and hubcap end tables—though that would be tacky of the extreme. At least it would look like someone lives here."

"And it doesn't now?"

"It just looks so empty. You need…something. Something you like, obviously, not something for me—I mean, it's not like it's my place. I'm hardly moving in."

"What's that, then?" he asked, nodding toward where her bag sat.

Buffy suddenly sat up. "Oh God, am I moving in? I'm going to have a drawer. Is that moving in?"

"It was your idea to stay over more, pet."

"Yeah, but actually _moving in_ is a step. A whole big step." She looked at the bag, packed for 'staying over.' It was true that she hadn't slept at her own house since they'd had sex again. But she hadn't come here every night just so they could sleep together, necessarily; she just wanted to be with him.

"I'm still not sure I'm ready to actually live with someone yet," she blurted.

"See, now you're gettin' all worked up over terminology." Spike leaned down next to her and put a finger to her lips. "Be over here whenever you want, and whenever you're at your mum's, that's fine, too. Don't worry about what to call it. It doesn't change anything."

Buffy sighed, smiling a bit. "When did you get so smart?"

"Been around a while." He drew her to him. "And never worried about what word to use. Always just went with it."

"Mm. Yes, words are of the bad," she agreed, resting her head on his shoulder. "I blame the magazines," she decided, "with all their quizzes and steps to figure out exactly where you are."

"Been reading?"

"Not now. But I used to live for new issues. Maybe it all gets drilled in after a while. But no more labels. I don't think we fit anywhere."

She paused for a moment. "Even saying boyfriend sounds weird." She tested it again. "'Boyfriend. My boyfriend.' I don't think I like it."

"Why not?"

"Because you're so much more than that."

Spike didn't say anything, but his whole body seemed to pause.

"Do you know what I mean?" she asked.

He pressed his lips to the crown of her head. "I do."

Buffy snuggled against him, and neither one of them said anything else for quite some time.

* * *

On Friday afternoon, she and Spike were getting ready to spar in her basement. Buffy had already been by the Magic Box, where she'd worked with Giles.

He had started showing her meditations. He'd said they were similar to what he was teaching Willow, and that even though she didn't have the magical power to control, it would help her overall focus.

They had also done the blindfold thing again, which she'd complained to Spike about as being useless.

Buffy finished tightening the laces on her tennis shoes and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

"What's the most common way for a vampire to bite?" she suddenly asked.

Spike looked at her as he took off his coat. "What do you mean?"

"How's a vampire going to try to bite me?"

"Any way he can."

"But isn't there like some preferred way to do it?"

"Not really." Spike shrugged. "If they've got you down, they'll do it that way, but it's just as easy to shove you up against a wall or hold your arms still."

He stood in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Although, some will go for the right and some for the left." He tilted his head each way and leaned in slightly as he spoke. "Depends."

Then he smiled and moved behind her, his hands skimming over her shirt without actually touching her. A moment later his chest was to her back, and she felt his breath against her ear.

"Or they could do this," he said. His teeth scraped over the side of her neck.

She really shouldn't be getting shivers like that during training.

"And if they really like you," he said in a low voice, "they might do it like this."

His arms suddenly snaked around her, grabbing her and spinning her around. Just as quickly, he dipped her like they were dancing. She only saw his grin for a split second before he lowered his head and gave her an almost genuine bite.

"Stop it," she said, giggling. "Let go!" Buffy squirmed and pounded her hands against Spike in mock resistance as he continued to nip at her. "This is _so_ not training!"

"But it's much more fun," he said, dragging his teeth up the other side of her throat.

Then he pulled back and looked at her, still holding her barely two feet off the floor.

"We need to train now," she said, trying to sound serious.

"Alright," he agreed, lowering her to the mat. "Go get a scarf."

"For what?" Buffy asked, genuinely confused.

"A blindfold."

"Now I know that doesn't sound like training."

He smirked. "We can do that later, if you like. But I was thinkin' more of what you did with your Watcher."

"But that was pointless. I always hit him, just like that." She scooted out from under him and straightened up. "Besides, I can feel vampires, especially you."

"Should be easy, then. What'd you do with him?"

"Threw a ball at him."

Spike snorted. "We'll do some moves."

"Like actual fighting?"

"More like reactions. Not gonna really attack you, just see how you move. Basic stuff."

"Okay." She shrugged. "Be back in sec."

Buffy headed to her room to find something that would work as a blindfold. She could do blindfolded training with Spike.

She bit back a smile. The idea of doing other blindfolded things didn't sound entirely bad, either.


	72. Shocks

Spike got a blow in, sending Buffy backwards a step. She recovered as he advanced on her, and dodged his next hit.

She retaliated with a kick, landing her foot in his middle. She lunged while he staggered, but Spike was already moving away, trying to get into her blind spot. Buffy jumped back as he came up beside her, and they traded blows.

Spike got hold of her left arm, but she pulled free of his grasp, spinning her body as she moved behind him. She grabbed his arm and yanked it at an angle as she slipped around him, almost catching it in that painful hold. But he was just as quick, twisting in an unnatural way and spinning to face her.

But her grip on his wrist didn't break, and his other arm snaked out to pull her off him. The same instant, the arc of her right arm was completed, and she brought her blunt stake smashing into his chest.

For a moment, they both stared at each other. Then Buffy dropped the stake and did a little jump.

"I did it! I beat you. I actually beat you!" She beamed. "One hundred percent, no question about it, you would have been dead. Not just a tie, not just 'good move, luv,' but totally beat you."

She bounced back on her heels, rocking on the mat.

Spike grinned at her and then suddenly he was behind her, arms wrapping firmly around her middle.

"Don't celebrate too soon, luv. You might have got one vamp, but you forgot about the other one. And now he's got you, and you're unarmed."

"Oh, you were totally alone," she scoffed.

"Was I?"

"Yep." Buffy nodded emphatically. She could tell that Spike wasn't really that serious about training more; she could feel his smirk against her cheek.

"You sure? Always gotta pay attention."

"You were a lone vamp that I completely just dusted. Otherwise I wouldn't have done the happy dance."

"It was a nice dance," he said in a low voice.

He also wasn't serious because his hand was creeping under her waistband.

"Beat me fair and square, you did."

"Maybe I'll do it again."

He grabbed her hips and pulled her back against him.

"Did I ever tell you," he said in her ear, "how desirable you look when you're fightin'?"

"Not exactly," she breathed. Buffy's eyes closed for a moment. She pushed into him.

"Especially when you win," he rumbled. Spike unashamedly rubbed himself against her butt. His fingertips dug into her hips as he ground into her.

Suddenly he spun her around. Without missing a beat, Buffy wrapped her legs around his waist as he hoisted her up. Immediately, there was an insistent bulge pressing against her in exactly the right spot. She urgently squeezed him, even as he was working around her, trying to get his fly open.

They were once again going to go from sparring to having mind-blowing sex. Not that she particularly minded.

"Could go upstairs," he gasped into her neck.

"Too far."

He nodded in agreement. A moment later, she heard his belt come undone.

They were once again going to have sex half-dressed in the basement. Not that she minded—they'd had plenty of sex in a bed recently.

Buffy scrambled off him long enough to pull her pants down and discard her panties.

She was ready to climb back on when Spike spread his duster on the mat, opening it up for her. He pulled his jeans down. "Take off your shirt," he ordered.

"You too, then," Buffy said, settling herself down. She supposed they could have needy, standing-up sex another time.

She undid her bra, watching as he pulled his black T-shirt off and flung it to the floor. Something else on the floor caught her eye. The scarf from earlier.

She reached for it.

Spike's look intensified when he saw what she had, but he didn't say anything. He was over her now, naked except for his jeans bunched around his ankles, his boots still on. There was something unbelievably hot about that.

Buffy leaned back, wrapping the scarf around her head.

She saw him pump himself twice before she pulled the blindfold down.

Then there was nothing but blackness.

A moment later, there was nothing but him working inside her.

* * *

-

-

Over the weekend, she and Spike sparred more, but without the sexing, since her mother was right upstairs.

She beat him again. He beat her some, too, but that wasn't the point. She _could_ beat him now. And the more she beat him, the closer she was to being able to beat Angelus.

She had a late lunch with her mother on Saturday, before heading to the store and to Spike's. Despite her earlier freak-out about whether she was moving in or not, she knew she liked being over there.

But 'living together' just sounded so serious. She realized, though, that they weren't living together. That implied more than a few drawers of clothing and bathroom stuff. It had just sort of taken her by surprise.

Buffy knew that she wasn't ready to live with someone. She also suspected that she and Spike shouldn't _be_ ready. They had barely gotten all their problems worked out a week ago. It was just too soon. She was still more or less wrapping her head around the fact that the relationship she had considered doomed wasn't going to be.

There was nothing bad about taking things slowly. There was also nothing wrong with working up to moving in.

Buffy arrived at Spike's carrying several sacks. She'd gone shopping, getting a few basic condiments like salt and pepper, sugar, and butter, and getting kitchen things like paper towels, dish detergent, and a can opener. It seemed sort of dumb that she'd forgotten them before, but she'd had never done any real shopping. Her mother always did the shopping, and besides running by the store to pick up another gallon of milk, Buffy rarely went to the supermarket.

She had gotten dishes the time before, but she really hadn't thought of the things that were needed to 'start' a kitchen. Which was definitely what she was doing, because Spike had zero anything. She'd also bought some more food for herself.

Buffy carried the sacks up the outside stairs, and knocked before opening the door. It was a good compromise, she thought—not just busting in, but not waiting outside like a guest.

Spike had been watching TV, and he took a bag from her, despite her protests of 'Slayer strength, and it's hardly heavy, anyway.'

Buffy put away the things in the kitchen and turned to see Spike reaching into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. "How much, pet?"

"I've got it."

He held two twenties out.

"It's stuff for me," she said. "Stuff you wouldn't be using, since you wouldn't be cooking."

"Yeah, but it's stuff for my place."

"And I bought it."

He arched a brow. "Where'd you get the money?"

"Mom," she muttered, seeing where he was going with this.

"Right. You're not using your mum's money to buy things for here. If you had your own money, it'd be different."

"It is my money. She gave it to me." Okay, that sounded lame.

He snorted. "An allowance, like? Nothin' wrong with that, pet, but use it to buy clothes, fill up your car, go out to eat—what she give it to you for—not for—"

"Buying things for my significant vampire's apartment," she interrupted. "Fine." Buffy took the bills from him, putting them in her purse. "But you're not paying for my shampoo and stuff. Because cosmetics is definitely what my money is for buying."

"How much was it?" he asked anyway.

"Thirty-something."

Spike's mouth actually fell open. "Thirty dollars for shampoo?"

"And stuff," she said defensively.

"I had shampoo."

"That two-in-one bottle from the dollar store? Please. I need moisturizing and volumizing. Plus, yours is boring."

He continued to stare at her, so she started unloading the bag. "I got the Enchanted Apple shampoo and the matching conditioner. And some Passion Fruit Blast body wash—because the loofa sponge came free with it. Oh, and another bottle of my cherry blossom scented lotion, and some Ocean body spray. And I brought this extra vanilla lotion, in case I don't feel like cherry blossoms."

Spike surveyed the bottles spread out on the kitchen table. "Well, it's no bloody wonder I could never decide what you smelled like."

Buffy pawed through the bottom of the bag. "I also got a toothbrush, toothpaste, face cleanser…you know, the basics. I have stuff like extra makeup and hairspray in my purse, so I can hold off on that. Oh, and I brought another towel from home. And some washcloths. You need washcloths."

"For what?"

"Taking off makeup."

"Yeah, I knew I was doin' it wrong."

"Okay, _I_ need washcloths." Buffy looked back at her things on the table. "I hope you have an extra drawer in the bathroom."

* * *

They watched TV together in the afternoon. One thing hadn't exactly led to another, but as Spike's hand moved from her waist to her neck, it was clear where it was going to lead. Buffy smiled and pretended not to notice him as he leaned in and nuzzled her ear.

His head dropped, his lips moving over her jaw and trailing down her neck. Spike nipped at her collarbone.

"I'm trying to watch TV," Buffy said, struggling to keep her voice even.

He licked back up her throat. "It's a commercial."

She broke into a fit of giggles.

Spike snatched the remote and turned off the television. Buffy leaned against the back of the couch. "You want to now?"

He grinned. "That's the general idea." He turned to her, and his lips found her throat again. Spike sucked and nibbled at her.

A moment later, she felt him change.

Buffy suddenly put her hands on his shoulders. "Wait." She tried to push him back up. However, she found that he was strangely resistant.

"Why do you always do that?" she asked.

"What?"

"Change like that."

"Didn't figure you wanted to see."

"I know what you are," Buffy said. "I don't pretend you're not a vampire. It's kind of hard to do that when you're biting me, you know." She moved a hand up the back of his neck. "Let me see you."

Finally, he pulled back, meeting her gaze with golden eyes.

"Still didn't figure you'd want—"

Buffy put a finger to his lips. "This is what I want." She slowly studied how he looked like this, her eyes roving over his face for several moments. He looked like a vampire, but he still looked like Spike. Some part of her thought that he was not unattractive.

Spike was watching her as she watched him.

Buffy turned to straddle his lap. She put her hands on his arms and placed a light kiss on his lips, lingering before slowly moving back.

Then she gripped his shoulders and leaned away, arching her back and bearing her neck to him. Spike's hands found the small of her back and pulled her flush against his chest. He ran his lips down her right cheek, his teeth dragging over her skin as he neared her throat. His mouth opened, and he felt out his favorite spot.

Spike always bit her on the right, she realized.

"No," Buffy suddenly said.

He immediately stopped. Then he pulled back and looked at her in confusion.

She tilted her head the other way. "Bite me on the left."

Where Angelus had bitten her.

Spike seemed to realize what she was thinking. He ran his hand over the smooth skin of her neck.

"Buffy, there's nothing there."

She knew it was true; there were no scars or marks. Slayer healing had taken care of that. But there was still something there.

Buffy shook her head and tucked her chin to her right shoulder.

After a moment, Spike bent down, and she felt almost relieved when his teeth cut into her flesh. She knew it was stupid, but it felt like he was taking something away—draining the event from her body's memory with each drop that he took.

She wrapped herself around him, even as he enveloped her. She was still sitting astride his lap, legs falling close on either side of him. Her arms rested on his chest, and were now pressed tightly between them. He was bent over her slightly, back curved and arms firmly holding her to him. Their heads were tucked together.

A part of Buffy noticed that there was nothing sexual about the bite. It was intimate, but the desperate intensity was gone. Neither one of them was trying to hold on as long as they could, stretch the moment out into an evening. Since they were having sex again, being this close physically was certainly no longer a rare occurrence. The blood wasn't the only thing that tied them together.

That wasn't to say that she didn't enjoy the biting. Because she did.

There was the connection.

It was a union of a different sort.

.

.

Buffy leaned back against the couch when she and Spike separated.

Their shoulders were touching as they sat facing the same direction once again. He draped an arm over her stomach.

"I'm hungry," Buffy suddenly said.

"I'm not."

"No, I guess you wouldn't be."

Strange how that didn't freak her out. Despite what Spike had once snapped about her not being food to him, she realized on some level that she was. Even when he was drinking her blood for other reasons, she knew that there was no way he couldn't get food out of it. She also didn't mind because she knew he had to get it somewhere.

"Well, I want food," she said.

Buffy stood up, but felt a bit lightheaded and sank back down.

"You know, I think we overlooked something. Biting at night is good because I don't have to move afterward."

"I can take less."

"You don't have to. I'm just thinking that in the future, the middle of the afternoon is of the bad."

He nodded, and then stood. "I'll go get you somethin' to eat."

"I'm not asking you to."

"I want to."

Buffy smiled. "Okay, how about one of those humongous fruit smoothies? Then I'll fix some pasta later or something."

"Sure." He kissed her on the forehead and put on his coat. "Be back soon."

Buffy settled back on the couch as the door closed, preparing herself for a lazy weekend.

* * *

At the beginning of the week, she and Spike were in the basement again, preparing to spar.

"You ready to get beaten again?" Buffy asked.

"Are you?" he asked, taking off his coat.

She circled him. "Not gonna happen. Today's my day. I'm going to get you every time."

Spike mirrored her. "That so?"

Buffy lunged at him. He jumped out of the way. She spun around to face him, beginning to circle again.

He looked amused. Buffy kicked and he caught her leg, pulling her off balance and sending her to the mat.

"Your day, huh?" Spike said with a laugh. "You get up on the wrong side of the bed today, luv?"

He grabbed her ankles and tugged clockwise, flipping her over. "Hasn't been this easy in a while," he said, his weight resting on the balls of his feet as he crouched over her.

Buffy frowned and scooted out from under him. "I'm tired, that's all," she said, standing up. "Let's go."

"Your move." He bounced back.

When she wasn't fast enough to land a close-range blow, she knew something was wrong.

It wasn't until he grabbed her left arm and she was unable to get any momentum off her twist—which was hardly twisty—that she realized something was horribly wrong.

Seconds seemed to pass in slow motion.

Buffy yanked backward, but his grip on her arm didn't waver.

She saw Spike's body pull back as he drew his left hand into a fist.

"Stop! _Stop it!!_"

Buffy was surprised by the shriek of her voice. But raw instinct was screaming that Spike was seconds away from seriously hurting her, even if he didn't know it and she didn't know how.

He froze—halted by the fear in her voice or the panic of her movements—even as she desperately jerked to the side.

Buffy's feet slipped out from underneath her, but the hand holding her arm didn't waver, leaving her dangling awkwardly from his grasp.

Spike grabbed her other shoulder before she could stand, hauling her up to face him. "What's _wrong_ with you?"

His fingers were biting into her arms, and Buffy went wild. She thrashed in frustration and furiously pounded her fists against his chest, panicking not because she was trapped, but because she suddenly couldn't do something she should have been able to do.

Spike caught her wrists and held her at arm's length. He looked at her like she'd gone insane.

"Let go!" she demanded. "No, don't! I can make you."

Buffy pulled backward as hard as she could, digging her heels into the mat and throwing her weight back. She twisted and tugged, but she couldn't free herself.

He didn't even budge.

Buffy stared at their hands almost in horror, and then she went slightly limp. "I can't do it," she whispered in defeat.

Spike raised an eyebrow. "I'm barely holding you."

It felt like he had her in a vise.

"I don't—I can't—just let go now?"

She sank down to the floor as he did, absently rubbing her wrists. Spike crouched beside her, his face full of confusion and concern.

"Buffy? What is it?"

Suddenly she grabbed his hand, squeezing it as hard as she could.

"Does that hurt? At all?" She couldn't keep the desperation out of her voice.

"No, pet." He was frowning at her.

Buffy dropped his hand. "Something's wrong."


	73. Difficulties

"Something's wrong."

"What, pet?"

"I'm not—strong anymore."

Spike frowned at the impossibility of her words, even as he realized that something had been off about her.

"Can that happen?"

"I don't know!" she cried. "Can it?"

"Maybe you're just sick or something."

"I don't think 'sick' covers it!" Buffy seized his hand again, gripping it between her own. "I'm _trying_ to hurt you. If you were human, bones would be snapping. It should at least hurt!"

He could feel the pressure, but it was nothing more than ordinary.

"I'm not fast enough and I can't move right, and you were so much stronger—"

"You sure?"

"I can't _do_ anything. It's like I'm not…it's like before."

She flinched as she saw his other hand move.

"Not gonna test you out," Spike said softly.

He just had to touch her.

"I don't understand this," she said, sounding lost.

How it had happened didn't matter.

"We'll figure it out, luv."

The horror of it was slowly occurring to him. He'd been attacking her while she was defenseless. Trying to hurt her, without any idea how easily she could have been hurt.

Spike pulled Buffy to his chest. They were a tangle of limbs as he went from crouching to sitting, falling back onto the mat with her body cradled against his. He gripped her tighter for a moment, exhaling.

Buffy sighed against him. "I don't suppose there's a possibility that you suddenly got super strong," she said dully.

"I sort of doubt it."

She suddenly moved, pushing away and standing up. "I need a test."

Spike stood. "If you like. What?"

She looked around the basement, her eyes landing on the spot where she kept her weapons. Buffy quickly made her way over and pulled her sword off the wall. It was heavy and long, and she'd never actually used it on patrol, though they had practiced with it.

Spike's eyes didn't miss the way she staggered as she removed the sword from the pegs it had been hanging on. She managed to lift it, but there was no way she could swing it without using both hands. Even then, it was by no means effortless.

Buffy dropped the sword after a moment. "Throw me that stake," she said.

Spike picked up the stake they'd been using to practice and threw it to her. She fumbled, managing to catch it, though it nearly slipped out of her grasp.

"You got it," he said.

"I should have been able to grab it without thinking."

She flung the stake across the room, and it ricocheted of the railing of the stairs.

"Nothin' wrong with your coordination."

"I was aiming for the pipe in the ceiling."

"Oh."

Buffy bit her lip. "This is wrong. Everything's wrong."

"Look, we'll figure it out, and we'll fix it. There's gotta be something. Magical, maybe."

"I need to go see Giles," she said suddenly.

Spike nodded.

She was gone in a rush, kissing him goodbye and tearing up the stairs. A minute later, he heard her car start. Spike stood for a moment before walking over and picking up the sword. He flipped it in his hand and then put it back on the wall.

His mind flashed back to mere moments ago, when she'd screamed at him to stop.

The instant after that had bothered him on some level even as it had happened. It hadn't been because he'd had her caught; it had been the way she hadn't fought back.

Buffy had been frantic. There was nothing about it that resembled fighting or sparring. She'd thrown herself against him in a frenzy, crashing on his body with no effect. Making helpless, frustrated noises.

It had been too much like what happened with a victim.

A way he had never wanted to see her. Least of all against him, no matter what the reason.

Spike had been thrown, seeing her in that state. It also reminded him of the short but unpleasant time when he had thought he might end up doing that to her.

He'd caught her wrists and pulled her off him—anything to get her to stop it. But when Spike had discovered the reason for her panic, he'd felt quietly ill.

It all could have gone so terribly wrong. Whatever had happened to her, if she hadn't realized it, he wouldn't have been able to realize it. Not until something had gone wrong and she'd been injured—not until it was too late.

* * *

Giles didn't really look like he was paying attention. He kept glancing at his books as she spoke, kept playing with his glasses. Willow was paying more attention, for all that she was trying to look like she wasn't paying attention.

"Er, you're saying what now?" he asked.

"I'm saying," Buffy repeated, "that I've got no strength, no coordination, no speed, nothing."

"Perhaps you're just a bit under the weather."

"I'm not sick! I'm telling you, it's like it's gone. I hit like a girl! It's like…like I'm not the Slayer," she finished. It was the first time she'd said it out loud. Everything was like it would be if she weren't the Slayer.

"We have to get to the bottom of this," she said. "Start with the research or something."

"I can research," Willow said from across the store. "We haven't had a big research in a long time."

"Of course," Giles said after a moment. Then he turned to Buffy again. "You can certainly forego patrolling—take it easy until you're yourself again."

"Definitely no plans for wandering cemeteries right now."

"In the mean time, perhaps you can demonstrate for me."

Buffy shrugged. "Sure, I guess. Not exactly going to take a long time, though, to show you what I can't do."

"Perhaps we can work on some other things as well."

"Like what?" she blurted.

"Strengthening your focus, your mind. We were beginning to do some meditations."

"Giles, I don't exactly feel like meditating."

"But it's really calming," Willow spoke up. "Besides all that focusing stuff. It always helps me disconnect and reconnect. I could meditate with you," she offered.

"No," Giles said. "Er, perhaps you should get started with the books, Willow. And mind the front."

Willow frowned, but shrugged, going over to the bookshelf and perusing the titles.

"Okay, why not?" Buffy said. "Get my mind off it and all that."

"Very good."

She followed Giles into the back.

.

.

Later, Buffy helped Willow look through the books. Unfortunately, not very many of the ones Willow thought would help were written in English. And unlike the time that Buffy had helped research a demon, there were no useful pictures in these non-English books.

Buffy decided that she wasn't very good at research. But she felt bad about asking Willow and Giles to look up her problem by themselves, so she dutifully sat and picked through the books that she could read.

Willow was really getting into it, and after the second time that she had missed a customer, Giles got up and went to the front. He didn't come back, having found something he needed to sort through up there.

When Anya came in for her evening shift, she was actually considerate to Buffy after she heard about her problem.

"I'm sorry you lost your powers," she said sincerely. "It can be very frustrating, I know."

Anya flipped through an open book, more playing with the pages than looking for something. "You know, I think there was a thing about Slayers."

"A thing?" Buffy asked. "What thing?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm not sure I ever really heard it. I didn't tend to pay attention to Slayers, as a rule." She shrugged. "Sorry."

"But there was something where another Slayer lost her power?"

"Maybe."

Anya went to the register, and Buffy looked at Willow.

"Well," Willow said, "at least there's a better chance of finding it somewhere. Maybe there's some sort of curse you can put on a Slayer."

Buffy ended up staying rather late into the evening. They hadn't found anything in the books yet, but Willow assured her she would keep looking.

Getting ready to go, Buffy stretched back in her chair and reached her arms overhead. She was surprised when she felt a dull pain in her left arm from the movement. Frowning, she pulled the sleeve of her sweater jacket down, and was slightly taken aback when she saw darkened skin.

Buffy quickly pulled the jacket back up, and a moment later she went into the store's bathroom. Taking her sweater off, she saw a large and still-forming bruise on her upper arm.

Immediately, she knew what it was from.

It was from earlier that afternoon, when her arm had twisted in Spike's too tight grasp, when all her weight had dangled from his grip on her.

Buffy put the sweater back on.

When she left the Magic Box, she wasn't entirely surprised to find Spike waiting for her outside. It was long after dark. Buffy tossed him her keys, and he drove them back to his apartment.

Spike seemed distant for some reason. He didn't speak, and he looked at her a bit oddly.

Their ride was completely silent.

Buffy didn't know what was wrong with him, but she let it go. For now.

* * *

_A/N: Don't expect this to be a rewrite of Helpless. It will go quite a bit differently._


	74. Assurances

Spike opened the apartment door for her, skirting around her as he closed it.

Buffy frowned, stepping into his space. "What are you doing?"

"What?" He shrugged.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"You're being distant."

"No, I'm not." He moved around her and headed toward the kitchen.

She lunged at him, catching him around the waist and pressing her face into his back. He tensed.

"I can't do this," Buffy said. "I don't know what's going on, and I need you to be here. I can't handle this if you start acting all weird, too."

"I'm not."

"You are. Look, I know things were a little…intense this morning, but we're not exactly going to be sparring here." She paused. "So will you stop looking at me like I'm going to shatter if you sneeze wrong? We have done this before, you know."

After a moment, she felt him relax beneath her touch.

"Alright," he finally said.

Spike gently rested his hands over her own before turning around to face her. Buffy slid her arms around, clasping them behind his back.

"See?" she said. "Perfectly fine. Well, as much as I can be."

"You figure anything out today?"

"No, not really. But Willow's working on it. So is Giles." She sighed, leaning into him. "And I just want to stop thinking about it, but I can't. And I'm so tired. I haven't done anything all day but think about it, and I'm tired."

Spike's hand was rubbing over her back. "You wanna go to sleep?"

"Not really. Could we maybe just curl up?" Buffy felt sort of pathetic asking that, even though she knew he wouldn't mind.

"Sure, luv."

"Just let me change clothes," she said, pulling back.

Buffy went into the bedroom, glad that Spike didn't immediately follow her in. She quickly stripped out of her clothing and put on an oversize sleeping shirt—one with sleeves that hung down to her elbows. It wasn't that she was hiding the bruise on her arm—but, well, she just wasn't going to tell him.

Spike came in a moment later, leaving the door to the living room open and the lights on behind him. He switched the bedroom light off.

Propping the pillows up, Spike settled back on top of the covers as Buffy crawled into the bed. She flipped the comforter over herself, and Spike wrapped an arm around her. Buffy curled up against him, resting her head on his chest. She felt a little bad about being so clingy, but she needed it.

"What did you do today?" she asked.

"Couldn't sense me?"

"No."

"Came back here, then went out. Waited around for you." She felt him shrug slightly. "Couldn't leave you alone like that, somethin' could happen."

"I know this must be weird for you."

"No more than for you."

Buffy fell silent for a moment.

"Spike?"

"Hm?"

"What if I don't come back?" she asked in a small voice.

There was another minute of silence. "You never left, Buffy."

"But I'm not the same."

"No, you're not. And?"

"I don't know," she said. "This morning, you—you said we'd fix it."

"Thought you wanted to fix it."

"I do. Of course I do. But, the other day, when you got all turned on when we fought, what if—what if I can't do that anymore?"

"Are you suggesting," he asked tightly, "that I wouldn't want you?"

"No. Not really."

"You're still you."

She shifted. "I know, but—but wouldn't you miss that? Fighting with me?"

"I guess, yeah. But if you can't fight, I get to protect you. So it works out."

"But what do you _want_?"

"You," he said simply.

There was a silence.

"Yeah, things would be different for a while, but it wouldn't matter." Spike paused, running his other hand slowly up and down her forearm. "Buffy, what do you want?"

Her eyes focused blankly on the light spilling in from the living room. "I want to know what's wrong with me."

"Well, yeah. But beyond that."

"I'm afraid it won't come back," she finally said. "Today, I was all about fixing it, but then I started thinking that maybe this was just it. What if there was some cosmic glitch? What if some other girl has already been called? What if I'm just me again?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I'd miss fighting with you. I never really thought fighting would be fun, but it sort of is. I wouldn't miss patrolling. I wouldn't miss _having_ to do things. But I'd miss helping people, I think. I didn't like being the Slayer at first, you know. But it seemed selfish and wrong—almost evil—to be able to do these amazing things and to not be doing them. But it wasn't like I _wanted_ to fight vampires. I fought them because I was the Slayer."

Spike's hand hovered over hers, lightly touching her fingers. "Do you want to be the Slayer?"

"Wanting never had much to do with it. There wasn't a choice about it. I wasn't; then I was, so I did it. I suppose," Buffy said slowly, "that if I wasn't again, I'd adjust. I've only been the Slayer a few months. But…if I'm not the Slayer, it's not my fight. I might feel bad about it, but I don't want to do it. Not like this.

"I know Giles and Willow and Xander do, but it was their choice to do this. No one made them. They don't have a duty; they could walk away—well, maybe not Giles. But like, Giles is a Watcher who's trained for years, Willow is a witch well on her way to flinging stakes with her mind, heck—even Xander's more than twice as strong as me now."

"You'd miss being strong," Spike observed.

Buffy looked up. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Not that hard to figure out, pet. I'd miss being strong."

"I'd miss being free," she said, pressing her cheek to his shirt again. "I don't think you really get it. I don't think any guy can get it—the way being a girl is different. I mean, yeah, everyone should be careful, but it's still different. The way you can be out late, but not too late, the way when you walk into a parking garage, you have to notice everything."

"I get that bit," he said in a low voice. "From the reverse perspective."

Spike didn't say anything else, and it took Buffy a moment to process his words. He meant that he knew how to tell who was easy pickings.

"Right, well…" Buffy trailed off. "But for once, I didn't have to think about any of that. One of the first nights after I was called, I went to this club. And for the first time ever, I was by myself and I didn't have to worry about anything at all. It was so…"

"Liberating," Spike finished.

Buffy couldn't help but feel that he was thinking of when he was turned. She could imagine that that was freeing, in a different way.

"I realized that I wouldn't have to worry about everyday dangers again," she said. "I just had to worry about the big bads. So yeah, it'd be nice to have the powers and not have to go slaying, but that's not how it works. No something for nothing.

"If whatever happened to me sticks… I might not miss fighting itself, but I'd miss being _able_ to fight. The daily dangers are back, for one. But now…I'd worry about more than just bad people."

He didn't say anything, and Buffy realized he was waiting for her to speak again.

"I know too much," she said. "I've seen too much. I can't go back to how I was. Even if it turns out that my powers are gone, and I don't want to fight, I still know. I know what's out there. I know what happens at night."

Spike pulled her closer, and he stilled as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. "You know I'd always keep you safe," he whispered.

"I do."

"You don't need to be scared."

"I know," she said. "But I like being able to keep myself safe, too. I don't want to be afraid to set foot outside by myself."

"You knew about vampires before you were the Slayer."

"Yeah, but not quite so much or quite so many. And this is the Hellmouth." Buffy paused. "I did know this one vampire in particular…" she said playfully, running her hand up his chest.

He chuckled.

Buffy glanced up, making out his features in the dim light. She tilted her head slightly as she studied him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Protectively. Did you like me better when I was human?"

Spike exhaled, frowning at her. "Bloody hell, I can't win. 'Do you like me better now that I'm the Slayer?' 'Did you like me better when I was human?'"

"I never asked if you liked me better since I was the Slayer. I asked if you liked my blood better."

"Same difference."

Buffy shoved him. "Hey!"

"Kidding. I'm kidding."

"And right now I'm asking because you suddenly look like you're very warmed up to the idea of fragile Buffy."

"I like _you_. I liked you when you were a girl. I liked you when you were the Slayer—thought I shouldn't at first, but that didn't mean I didn't." He paused. "Yeah, it's sorta strange right now. 'Fragile Buffy' was the first Buffy I met. Haven't thought of you as fragile in a long time. It's like a piece of the past—you like this. Not an unpleasant piece, mind. Just makes me remember what it was like."

Buffy thought about that for a minute. An unexpected question sprang to her lips.

"Back then, would you have told me that you were a vampire, if I hadn't seen?" she asked quietly.

"No."

"Why?" She scooted up, turning to look at him.

"It would have made it easier to walk away."

"Even though you liked me."

"I thought it was better that way."

"Why did you get to decide what was better?"

"So sorry," he said flatly. "Thought I might accidentally eat you."

Buffy couldn't think of an argument to continue with. As a reason to leave someone over, that was pretty good.

"Did you really?" she asked after a moment. "I know you said that, but did you really?"

"Didn't have much reason to think I wouldn't. Didn't exactly have the best track record. But then, I never tried before, either."

Buffy leaned back down, draping herself over his chest and wrapping her arms around him. "I don't think you could have."

She felt Spike exhale as his hands came up to rest on her back.

"Probably not," he said. "I imagined it, though. But I never imagined _doing_ it. I just thought it would happen somehow. Even when I knew I wouldn't, I still had no idea what to do with you." He laughed once. "I never got as far as thinkin' about what it'd be like to stay with you."

Buffy giggled in spite of herself. "Just a vacation romance?"

"Vacation?"

"From, you know, vampire things. Change of pace. Though, I can't imagine it was easy, considering."

"Yeah—fancy house, soft bed, premium cable, pretty girl—it was hard."

"You know what I mean. Although, I think you sort of liked pretending to be human."

"Did not. And pretendin'?"

"Okay, so maybe that's the wrong word," she said. "It's not like you invented a fictitious life story. But there was some part of you that got a big kick out of playing the game. Even in an 'I know something they don't know' way."

"Alright, I'll give you that."

Buffy propped herself up, even as she continued to lay mostly across him. "You liked it."

"Must have," he said, grinning. Spike ran his fingers through a strand of her hair, pulling it out to the side before letting it drop. "Cause I know I couldn't have liked protectin' some helpless girl."

Buffy caught his arm. "You liked me because I was a helpless girl?"

"Because you needed me. I think I'd missed that—being needed by someone."

"I still need you."

"I need you."

She leaned closer. "I always will."

"I love you," he whispered.

"Make love to me."

Spike suddenly tensed beneath her.

"Unless you don't want to," she said.

"Of course I want to."

Buffy stretched to plant a kiss at the base of his neck. "We've done this before, remember?" she asked. "You won't hurt me."

"I won't hurt you," he breathed.

She pulled herself up, putting her hands on his shoulders. Her lips brushed his, and Spike responded, kissing her in turn.

Buffy's hand traveled down to untuck his shirt, and after a minute Spike carefully moved her aside as he sat up and twisted around on the bed. He pushed his jeans down to the floor, and she could hear him tugging at his boots.

While he was busy, Buffy slid to the middle of the bed and shimmied out of her shirt and panties. She crawled under the covers. A second later, Spike joined her.

"I'll always want you," he said, sliding over her.

Then he was inside her.

.

.

He would never get tired of the sensation of sinking into something so warm and alive. Never get tired of her.

But there was so much more to her being alive than being warm. The heartbeat that pushed her pulse, the quickening of her breath, the dampening of her skin—everything about her body.

He was careful as Buffy squirmed beneath him, as her body locked around him.

Delicate now—like she'd been the first night they'd shared.

He'd been careful then not to grab her, bruise her. Careful to enjoy her without digging his fingers into her so soft flesh. So careful not to bite her.

Mainly, just to not get too carried away.

It was when they'd first been together in the basement that he'd realized he didn't have to worry about being too heavy, or too fast, or too hard. Realized that he wouldn't hurt her by accident.

Lately, they'd been a bit rough with each other more often than not.

But he remembered, remembered how to move—how to give her what she wanted and take what he needed without taking too much. Their union now wasn't overly gentle, but it was by no means wild.

Buffy had her legs up, hugging his sides without actually wrapping around him. She rocked slowly, her feet tracing up and down the backs of his thighs.

Spike reached back, bringing one of her legs up to hook over his shoulder. Then he moved her other leg. A pleasured gasp escaped her lips as he folded her in half, pressing himself deeper into her.

.

.  
Her feet peeked over the edge of the comforter. The air of the room felt cool against her heated skin.

The things he did to her body never disappointed her. Of course, that would have been more of a feat had a greater deal of time had passed. Everything was new between them now.

Secretly, she thought it would never get old.

The way Spike looked at her would also never get old.

There were the everyday looks, of course, and the stares when he thought she wasn't watching. But then there was _the_ look. The look she'd seen the first time they'd been together. The look he'd given her when they had desperately come together in the basement.

It wasn't strictly an 'enjoying sex' look; Buffy had seen that before. It was deeper than that. Raw. Bare. A look he only wore when he was connected to her in every possible way.

The first time he'd looked at her like that, it was almost like some part of him had had an epiphany, but the rest of him had failed to realize it. As if he had found what he desired most, even if he hadn't known he was looking for it until that moment.

It had been in that intense instant that she had known Spike would never hurt her. No matter what. She never could have predicted how many 'no matter whats' there would be, but she had always known.

The way he was looking at her now—it was like there was nothing in his existence but her.

Buffy was never entirely certain what she had done to deserve such a worshipful gaze. But she knew if she could figure it out, she would never stop doing it.

.

.  
When she came, she constricted around him. He quickly followed, spilling into her as her body continued to shake with quiet shudders.

It wasn't until he felt the flesh of her throat in his mouth that Spike realized he'd slipped into game face. He hadn't bitten her, though. He lingered on her neck—the feeling of the blood rushing so close to the surface was almost as good.

Slowly, she untangled her legs from around him, sliding them down and open. Her soft little breasts pressed into his chest, arching upward with every breath she took. Remembering that he was still sprawled on top of her, he started to shift.

.

.  
Buffy wrapped her arms around him, holding Spike to her. She knew he didn't like this position; he felt like he was crushing her. But after sex or after blood, she loved the feeling of him unmoving on top of her, the feeling of his weight pressing down on her, anchoring her.

Like this, there was absolutely nothing but the two of them. She was completely covered with him.

However, she realized that while she could have previously stayed this way forever, her current situation wasn't the same. Having Spike's dead weight on top of her was not something she was going to be able to manage for long.

After another moment, she pressed her hands to his shoulders. "Okay."

He slid off, and she took a deep, long breath, filling her lungs up all the way.

Spike lay on his side, one arm draped over her. He was out of game face, but he still hovered near her neck.

"You can if you want to," Buffy said.

"No."

"But if you want to, you can. Being the Slayer doesn't make it hurt less. Just don't take as much."

Spike was silent.

"Don't you want to know what I taste like by myself?"

He seemed to freeze. She had him with that one, she could tell.

"You want me to?" he asked.

"I want to do something for you," Buffy said. "I want to give you something."

Finally, Spike moved, crawling to hover over her. His body slowly pressed down on hers, but he kept his weight off her. He glanced at her neck and then looked at her seriously. "You want me to stop, you let me know."

Buffy rolled her head back, a silent invitation.

Spike leaned down, kissing and nipping at her before he began to suck, bringing the blood to the surface. A moment later, he sank his teeth in.

He jerked back almost immediately, blood-smeared lips curling back from long teeth in distaste. She felt a twinge of pain at the quick removal of his fangs from her flesh.

Buffy wasn't sure what to think. _Am I bad or something?_

But before she could ask what was wrong, he spoke.

"You've been drugged."


	75. Intentions

Spike was off her in an instant, and out of the room the moment after that. Buffy lay in bed a second, stunned, before she jumped up and went after him.

He was in the bathroom, slurping water out of his cupped hand.

Buffy flipped the lights on. Spike spit in the sink.

"Thanks so much," she said.

"Don't start with that. You're a bloody delicacy." He spit again.

"Uh-huh."

She was _not_ going to be insulted that he wasn't drinking her blood. Because that was gross and wrong on so many levels.

Spike turned off the water and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He was still completely naked.

Well, so was she. But she was cold. Buffy reached for her robe, which was hanging on the back of the door.

"What's that?" he asked suddenly, voice sharp.

Crap. She'd forgotten about the bruise on her arm. "What's what?"

She quickly pulled the robe off the hook and wrapped it around herself.

"Turn around," he ordered.

Buffy did so, tying the belt. She stared at him challengingly.

Spike crossed the bathroom in a single stride, reaching for her collar. Buffy slapped his hand away. Ignoring her, he carefully but firmly took hold of her wrist and pulled the robe off her shoulder with his other hand.

He froze, staring at her arm. Buffy could see the instant he put it all together, even though he must have suspected from the very moment he'd glimpsed it.

Spike gaped at her, horrified. He abruptly took a step back, like he was afraid he might injure her by sheer proximity.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Buffy looked at her arm. The bruise was large and dark now, and obviously hand-shaped. "Because I knew you'd just freak out about it." She sighed, pulling her robe back up and retying the belt.

He ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck, Buffy, I could've killed you."

"It's a _bruise_. And no, you couldn't have."

"Yeah? What if we'd started out different, jumped right in? God, what if I'd—"

"Now who's playing the what if game? No what if games, remember?"

Spike sank down on the edge of the bathtub, hands on the side of his head.

"We're not doing this," Buffy said firmly. She stood over him, hands on her hips. "We're not making a big thing over this. You're not going to spend an hour beating yourself up and apologizing to me."

Spike's hands dropped as he looked up. "I hurt you."

He said it like it was the greatest crime he could commit.

"You didn't know I was going to go all breakable Buffy. No one could have."

His eyes were locked on her arm again, as if he could see through the material of her sleeve. He looked haunted.

Buffy snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Can we get back to just a minute ago?"

Spike stared at her blankly.

"Hello? What do you mean I've been drugged?"

He looked at her a moment more before he stood. "There's somethin' in you that shouldn't be."

"What?"

"Not sure, exactly."

"How can you tell?"

He raised a brow. "Blood with drugs always tastes different. Common ones, I could pick out. Some of 'em will give you a nice buzz. That's different, though."

Buffy glanced down at herself, like she could see inside her body. "I don't remember being drugged," she said, as if that took care of it. "How could it have happened?"

Spike hesitantly stepped toward her. "I don't know, luv."

"I haven't been anywhere, seen anyone. And I'm with you all night. It doesn't make any sense." Except that it was making a sort of horrible sense, as explanations for missing strength went.

Spike met her gaze. "We'll figure it out, Buffy." Then he looked down. "Here, pet, let me clean that off."

Buffy turned to glance in the mirror. There was still blood on her neck. Blood that Spike usually licked off.

He grabbed a wad of toilet paper and carefully dabbed at the blood that had dripped down her throat.

"Here," Buffy said, wetting a washcloth.

Spike took it from her.

"See?" she asked lightly. "I told you that you needed washcloths."

Neither of them commented on the fact that the holes in her neck were a bit rougher than usual. He'd removed his teeth a bit hastier than usual.

Afterward, they stood awkwardly for a moment before Spike moved, going into the kitchen. Buffy followed him.

She watched while he took a bag of blood from the fridge and popped it in the microwave. The timer dinged and he took it out, slipping into game face. She watched as he (still completely naked) drained the bag.

Buffy stood between the kitchen and the living room, her toes lined up at the edge of the carpet just before the linoleum started. She wrapped her arms around herself.

She suddenly felt like crying. Nothing made any sense.

Spike threw the bag in the trash.

"Is someone poisoning me?" she said. "Is this it, or will I just get weaker and weaker? Will I even be able to get out of bed tomorrow?" Her voice cracked. "Is someone trying to kill me? Is it Angelus? Maybe this is what he's been doing."

He stopped in front of her, still in game face. "I won't," he said, "let anything happen to you."

Buffy looked down, blinking back tears. "What if you can't stop it?"

"I promise you we'll figure it out."

"How?"

"Hit some places, see if anyone knows anything, heard anything. Get the Watcher and the little witch on it. Know it's not magical, now."

"I'm sure it will look better tomorrow," she said dully. Buffy half-suspected that she was right. Bad as things were, they would seem different after sleep and with a clear head.

Spike was still just standing there, staring down at her. She thought he could at least be comforting her or something.

"Touch me," she suddenly said.

He didn't move.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "You won't hurt me."

"I already did."

"_Accidentally_. It doesn't count."

Spike didn't say anything.

"It doesn't," Buffy repeated. "And you know what? Not that hurt, here. And it won't happen again. You know now, and I know you wouldn't do anything that would hurt me, even unintentionally."

She put her hands on his chest, meeting his eyes. "Of all the things I'm worried about right now, you're not one of them. There's not going to be another accident."

For a moment, Spike remained frozen.

Then he reached for the belt of her robe, slowly untying it without looking. His hands moved up to her neck, and he slid the robe off her shoulders. It fell to the floor, a pile of material.

Spike wrapped his arms around her, pressing his body to hers as he rested his head on her shoulder. "I'm still sorry."

Buffy didn't say that he didn't need to be. She sensed that he just needed to say it.

They stood together for over a minute.

She felt Spike's face change back as he rubbed his cheek against hers. "You wanna go back to bed?" he asked.

"I kind of feel like taking a bath, actually."

"Alright," he said, moving back slightly.

Buffy went into the bathroom and started the water. Soaking in a tub always helped her relax.

Spike was hovering by the doorway. "Guess I'll leave you to it."

"You could stay. Or, um, join me? But I'm not up for anything," she added. "Just so you know."

He shut the door. "That's fine, pet."

"It's just that the whole 'I've been drugged' thing is sort of a mood killer."

Buffy pulled two towels out of the cabinet, slinging them over the top of the frosted glass doors of the tub.

She turned to see Spike staring at her arm. Her other arm.

There was a faint bruise there, too. Just the imprints of fingertips and a thumb—from when he'd grabbed her and held her in front of him with both hands.

She could see that that was his mood killer.

Spike got in the tub when it was half full, and after a moment, Buffy turned out the lights and joined him. The tub was not that big, but he settled against the back of it and she sat at the other end.

She slid the glass doors closed and turned to the faucet, running her hands underneath it and splashing water over her face. Buffy shut off the tap when it began to cool and dipped her head beneath the surface, wetting her hair.

She sat back up and she heard Spike move behind her, the water sloshing against the tub. She was surprised when she felt his fingers push her hair to the side before he began to gently rub her back. Spike's hands smoothly traveled over her shoulders and her back. They slowly traced downward along her spine and then went up her sides, lingering to tenderly work her shoulders before starting back down.

It seemed to last forever.

Then his fingers slid up once more, gliding over her shoulders and carefully going down her arms. So carefully down her arms that he barely touched her. Spike pressed his palms to the backs of her hands and threaded his fingers through hers. He folded her arms inward, crossing them over her chest and crossing his in turn.

Then he let go, stretching to reach around her. In the dark, she couldn't see what he did, but a moment later she felt the cold gel of shampoo on her head. He began to rub it in.

"All this pretty hair," he murmured.

Buffy sighed as he massaged her scalp. Having someone else wash her hair was relaxing on a level she couldn't even begin to describe.

He added more shampoo, more than was really necessary, as he worked her hair into a sudsy mess. A relaxing, sudsy mess.

She rinsed it as best she could when he was done, knowing she'd have to rinse it again at the end with non-soapy water.

Spike leaned against the back of the tub, and Buffy settled against him, lying with her back to his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. After a moment, his arms came up to encircle her. His body was warmed from the water. It was odd, after she had become so used to his being cool.

Her own body was nearly submerged. Everything was warm and dark, and the only noise was the quiet rippling of the water.

A minuscule amount of light came in from the tiny frosted window. It shone orange from the streetlights in the parking lot.

"You should get some candles," she breathed.

"Yeah?"

"They're relaxing. And moody."

"Thought we didn't have a mood."

"Candles are good for any mood. And they make it homey."

Spike was lightly running his hand over her fingers. He was so tactile, always kissing, always touching. Even now, when she was naked and against him, he still had to be touching her.

But his fingers now were so gentle and careful. She was aware that seeing the bruise on her arm had shaken him, but she knew he would never injure her on purpose. How reverently he was touching her attested to that fact.

Buffy sighed. "I feel better."

"Good," he whispered.

"Mm, I could fall asleep right here."

"Better not."

"I used to take such long baths, Mom would joke about having to come check on me to make sure I hadn't drowned. I know she was kidding, but I think she actually worried about me going to sleep and slipping under."

"I won't let you slip under."

She smiled. "I didn't figure you would."

* * *

They both slept late the next day. The bedroom was always dark due to the blanket over the window, and it was rather easy to drift in and out of sleep until noon, particularly when she didn't feel like getting up.

And it was always easy for a vampire to sleep until noon.

Buffy didn't really wake up until she realized that she should probably at least go to the Magic Box and check in before it got dark.

She sleepily leaned over the edge of the bed, feeling around on the floor. Her hand found her phone, and she looked at the clock.

"Ugh, it's one-thirty."

"So?" Spike mumbled.

"I've got to see Willow sometime today."

He shifted. "I'll come with you."

"You look tired."

"So?"

"I'm just going to the Magic Box. I'll be fine for an hour. It's broad daylight, I'll drive my car, and I'll be back long before dark."

For a second he looked like he was going to argue with her. Then he slumped back against the pillows. "Fine."

Buffy got out of bed and quickly dug through the closet, pulling out a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve blue shirt.

"You'll be fine for an hour," he repeated as she left the room. "But I'll be there after that."

She started to protest, but reminded herself that they didn't know what was going on. Buffy nodded as she closed the door behind her.

She went into the bathroom and put on her clothes. When she turned to the mirror, Buffy froze.

_Crap._

While it was true that being the Slayer didn't make Spike's biting her hurt less, she had failed to remember that being the Slayer did come with nifty healing.

Which meant that today she was sporting a lovely jagged reminder of last night, complete with discolored skin and scabs.

_Crap, crap, crap._

Buffy fixed her hair and quickly did her makeup. Then she used concealer on her neck.

It did not conceal.

There was nothing to do except go back to her house first and get something to cover her neck. Giles would notice a scarf. Maybe she could wear her beaded choker.

Sighing, Buffy grabbed her keys and left.

* * *

She arrived at the Magic Box a short time later, choker firmly in place.

Willow practically jumped up when she came in. She was at the table, which was completely covered with open books. There were even books on the floor, a thing that Buffy was sure was some sort of research sacrilege.

"Buffy! I was just about to call you. I, uh, might have found something."

"Well, it's about time," Anya said from behind the counter. "You've been here since dawn." She looked at Buffy. "She's been over there all morning, mumbling and making me bring her coffee."

"You've been here since dawn?" Buffy echoed.

"Well, I was up all night anyway, and I wanted to cross reference something in a book Giles had—and I've got a key for Oz's nights, so I came on down. Giles came in later to open up, but he left, said he had something to do."

"You stayed up all night?"

"Uh-huh," she said, overly chipper.

Buffy set her purse on the table. "Willow, when you said you'd keep working on it, I didn't mean for you to stay up all night."

"But I had to figure it out. I'd tell myself I was just going to read one more thing or check one more thing, and then poof! It was sunrise. Reminded me of my final project last semester for Psych."

"I didn't think you'd be the type to wait until the last minute."

"Oh, it wasn't the last minute," Willow assured her. "But I just got so into it that I couldn't stop."

Anya had already gone back to writing in the account book.

Buffy leaned in closer to Willow. "Spike said someone drugged me," she said in a low voice.

She brightened. "Really?" Then her brow furrowed. "I mean, uh, that's not good."

"No kidding."

"But that means I'm on the right track. Which is good. Though bad," she clarified. "How did he know?"

"He could, um, tell. He said something was off with me. So you said you found something?" Buffy asked, moving right along with the subject changing.

"Well, not something as in the answer, but something as in something. Look at this," Willow said. She proudly flipped to a bookmark that was stuck in the pages of one of the volumes.

Buffy looked at the page intently for a moment, and then glanced to Willow, who was watching with anticipation. "This isn't English," Buffy finally said.

"Oh. Uh, right. Well, okay, this sentence here is talking about the Slayer," she said, pointing. "It mentions some sort of loss. And this is the verb." Willow tapped the page. "Now, the way the ending is conjugated—this is a statement, but the ending has like a nuance. And this one implies that something caused the thing to happen, that it was a result of something, not like it just happened."

"Okay."

Willow moved around the table, flipping to another book. "And here, it talks about a test, but not a test of strength. And this, I just found this." She pointed to another book. "I'm not sure what it says yet, but I think it references the first book."

"The one about the losing."

She nodded. "The thing is…I mean, I've got to be wrong, right? Or…"

"Or what?"

Willow put her hand on the third book. "This is about the see-ers."

Buffy frowned. "The seers?"

"No, the see-_ers_. The ones who see. It could be several different words in English—see, observe, witness." She paused. "Watch."

"Watch?" Buffy was still for a moment. "The Watchers? Why would they do that?"

Willow sighed. "I know, right?"

"That doesn't make any sense."

There was silence.

"Unless it really is some sort of test," Anya spoke up. She was apparently listening again. "You wouldn't believe some of the coming of age tests I've seen. Those were human, though. Very barbaric. But a nice spectator sport." She shrugged.

Buffy exchanged a glance with Willow.

"A test." Willow said. "It says a test."

"I guess," Buffy said slowly. "Maybe."

"Giles really didn't seem that enthusiastic about helping research yesterday."

"Maybe he knows," Anya said.

"He couldn't," Willow said. "Could he?"

"This is crazy. This is all crazy." But Buffy suddenly had a horrible feeling creep over her. She didn't know exactly what was going on, but she knew something was going on.

Suddenly, the bell above the door rang and Giles walked in. "Good afternoon." He paused in the middle of the room. "Good Lord, why are you all looking like that?"

"Willow thinks the Council took away Buffy's powers," Anya stated.

"Why, that's absurd." He adjusted his glasses. "Preposterous." Giles looked at Willow and all the books that she had spread out.

"I have every right to read these," she said defensively. "They're on the shelf. Nothing like the time I took that one before you could lock the case back."

"Willow's wrong," Buffy said. "Right?"

"Of c-course." He seemed to be searching for something else to say.

"They why didn't you help research? Why didn't you seem very concerned yesterday?"

Giles paused a second too long.

"Oh, God." Buffy felt her whole body deflate. "The Council did this? And you _knew_? How could you let them do that to me?"

Giles gradually sat down. Buffy remained standing.

"It's a test," he said slowly, "called the Cruciamentum. It's a ritual that every Slayer must pass through to prove that she is more than her physical strength. It's tradition."

"Tradition," she echoed hollowly.

"On her eighteenth birthday, a Slayer's powers and strength are suppressed and she is entrapped with a vampire that she must defeat using skill and cunning alone. A Slayer must be smart and creative, must be self-reliant, or she won't pass the test."

How was this even happening? Buffy suddenly felt like she was watching the scene play out before her, like she was an observer of her life instead of a participant.

"What happens if she doesn't pass the test?" she asked.

Giles said nothing.

Willow made a small, shocked noise.

"You mean she ends up dead," Buffy said. "_I_ end up dead."

"Not if she is resourceful. Buffy, this has been done, and done again. The number of Slayers who don't—but you should have no difficulties. It's perfectly routine. I helped procure the vampire myself."

"Oh, sure. I should have no problem slaying a vampire like this. I wonder why Slayers have powers at all. I mean, it's so easy any girl can do it," she finished with a fake smile.

"Buffy—"

"And by the way, not eighteen, here."

"The Council saw no reason why you should be exempt simply because of an irregular later calling. After my reports of your abilities, they decided on the first month of the new year for your Cruciamentum."

"Goody," she muttered.

"This is important, Buffy," Giles said sternly.

"Do I get a gold star and a cookie if I pass? Or just the satisfaction of living to slay another day?" She crossed her arms.

"It's supposed to take place tonight," he continued. "I'm to direct you to the old house on Pine Street. That's where the vampire is, er, entrapped."

"Don't suppose I get to take a flamethrower with me?"

"The Slayer is allowed what she normally carries on her person. The point is to be re—"

"Resourceful. Right. And what resources am I supposed to use, huh? Being all entrapped up there?"

"Generally, there should be some items for your use. Wooden furniture—there's often a rudimentary fire as well."

Buffy just stared at him. How was she supposed to do this? How could they expect her to do this? "Rudimentary fire," she repeated. "Furniture? I can't break the leg off a chair like this! How does any of that help? Why not just send me in with toothpicks and matches?"

Giles looked at her seriously. "Buffy, this is important," he repeated. "Because you know about the test, it would be invalidated. The Council cannot find out about this."

"Oh, no," she said flatly. "Wouldn't want that."

"I could be reassigned, for one. But more importantly, you wouldn't escape the Cruciamentum, and would perhaps be forced to repeat it under less favorable conditions."

The room was silent for a moment.

Willow was looking at Giles with a mixture of disbelief and uncertainty. Anya was leaning on the counter and readily awaiting the next exchange. Right now, Buffy didn't care about either of them.

"How?" she asked quietly. "How did they do it? Take my power?"

Giles looked down, and then after what seemed like forever, he slowly pulled a thin box out of his briefcase. He laid it on the table and opened it. There was a syringe inside.

"During your meditation," he said. "Once on Sunday night, and again yesterday. It's an organic compound—temporary, of course—comprised of muscle relaxants and adrenal suppressants." He paused. "You'll—you'll be yourself again in a few days."

Buffy ran her hand over the case, feeling tears building in her eyes. "_You_ did this to me?" she whispered.

Bad enough that he had known, but that he had done it—and then had silently watched while she tried to figure out what was happening to her body. Her anger turned into a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"I'm sorry, Buffy." Giles looked up at her. "You have to understand that this wasn't pleasant for me, either."

"No! You don't get to feel bad!" Buffy swallowed, backing away. "I thought that someone was poisoning me, that it was a plot, that maybe it wouldn't stop with my Slayer strength and I'd just wither away. But no, it was you. You! I thought you were helping me, teaching me to focus my power. But that was just a convenient cover to get me out of it so you could inject me!"

"I did what every Watcher must—"

"Shut up." She shook her head, willing herself not to cry. "Someone tried to kidnap me in L.A. Did you know that? They stuck a needle in me, drugged me up and tried to drag me off. How are you any different? Drug me so I can't fight, take away what I have and then throw me to the vampires?"

"What do you intend to do about tonight?" Giles asked calmly, standing up.

"I don't know! How am I supposed to kill a vampire? I don't know. But don't worry," she spat. "You won't lose your job." Buffy wiped at the corner of her eye and then brushed her hair behind her ear.

"That's hardly all I'm—" he cut himself off, looking at her and seeming to see her for the first time. "Were you bitten?" he asked with sudden concern.

Buffy laughed. "Yeah. I was."

"You should—someone should dress it."

"It's fine now."

"May I look?"

"Right, because I'm so letting you near me with a medical kit."

She laughed again. Then she turned and left the store.


	76. Trials

_A/N: While I'm not a total conspiracy theorist about the Council, I do think it's unlikely that every Slayer would have faced a vampire as bad as the one Buffy (who could have been a problematic Slayer) faced in canon.

* * *

_

Buffy managed to make it to the parking lot before she started crying. She had been determined not to cry in front of Giles.

Unlocking her car, she got in and put the key in the ignition. She dialed Spike's number as she drove out of the lot.

"Hey," he answered. "I'm about to leave—"

"Don't bother," she said. "I'm on my way back."

His tone immediately changed. "Buffy, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Everything."

"What happened?" he asked sharply.

"I'm fine. I'm not hurt. Look, I'll be there in a minute. Just stay put."

She hung up the phone, and minutes later she was pulling into the apartment building's parking lot.

He met her at the door.

Spike took one look at her face before he pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her as they stood in the doorframe.

.

.

They had ended up on the couch as the story poured out of her. What Willow had found, what Giles had done, what the Council wanted her to do.

His expression became increasingly fell as she spoke. Eventually, she stopped looking up and just rested her head on his chest.

Spike's body was rigid beneath her, and the first two fingers of his left hand continued to twitch like he was ready to tear into something. Yet all the while, his right hand gently slipped through her hair as if it were completely unaware of what the rest of him was doing.

There was silence after she finished.

Buffy felt Spike relax slightly. Very slightly.

"I'm surprised you never heard of this," she finally said.

"My experience with Slayers tended to be a bit more hands on."

"I suppose the Council doesn't talk about it much, either. I think Giles was surprised Willow put it together."

"Seems like a smart bird. So, the Watcher. Should I take care of him for you?"

He was joking, yet he was completely serious.

"There will be no 'taking care' of Giles," Buffy said firmly. She had sort of been afraid of this.

"Haven't killed a Watcher in a while," he continued.

"You're not going to re-live old times now." Buffy moved to look at him. "Just let me deal with him."

Spike glowered down at her, now absolutely serious. "Why?"

"Because I said so. I know you're angry—"

"Don't think 'angry' covers it." An edge crept into his voice. "You come and tell me what you just told me, and you didn't think I'd want to rip his head off?"

"So, what, I was supposed to lie about it? Just leave that part out?"

Spike looked at her, mouth set in a grim line.

"I thought I could just tell you not to! I didn't think I'd have to actually talk you out of killing him!" Buffy pushed away, sitting up.

His hand fell on the cushion, fist clenched. "Haven't been paying attention, have you, pet?"

"You can't!" Buffy waved her arm, halfway pointing at him. "Leave him alone. I mean it."

"So you're fine with everything he did."

"No, I'm not fine with everything! I'm beyond furious with him, but you know, most people don't jump straight to murder as a problem solver."

"Vampire." Spike smiled.

"Bodily harm is not an actual solution."

"Don't knock it till you've tried it," he said, stiffly leaning back and putting his elbow over the armrest.

"I'm serious, Spike," Buffy said. "Don't you go do anything. Say it. Say you won't."

He glared at her.

She arched a brow in silent standoff.

"He could have gotten you killed," Spike growled.

"And yet here I am." She crossed her arms.

"If you'd been on patrol when that thing kicked in—"

"You would have been with me."

"He didn't know that. Didn't care if some vamp got the drop on you—"

"I know. Believe me, I know." Despite the fact about how terrible this test sounded—how she wasn't even sure she _could_ do it—it would have been so much easier if it hadn't been a secret. How much more of an advantage would she have had, really, if she'd known about it? The Watchers would still control it; she would still have no power.

"Seems that some vamp getting the drop on me is kind of the point," she said. "Look. Yes, I'm pissed at Giles. But that's where it ends. I might even hate him for a while. But I don't want him dead! Can you not understand that?"

"Maybe I want him dead."

"You're a vampire. You want everyone dead."

"No, I don't," he said. "I just don't particularly care if they live." Spike tilted his head, as if considering. "Him, I want dead."

"I don't."

"Well, let me know when you do want someone killed," he said flatly.

Buffy stilled. "That's not funny."

"I wasn't being funny."

A chill settled over her as she realized that Spike was serious. He'd kill someone for her. Just like that.

That…was just one too many things to sort through right now. At least until she'd dealt with the problems at hand.

"I don't want anyone killed," Buffy said. "And you don't get to go off on Giles, or anyone else I happen to get mad at."

"I don't care who you're angry at. How about anyone who risks your life?"

Buffy just stared at him. He wasn't even looking at her, wasn't looking at anything. "Tell me," she said, desperation creeping into her voice, "that you're not going to do anything."

Spike's jaw clenched.

"Tell me you won't."

He said nothing.

"Tell me!"

Buffy suddenly decided on a change of tactics.

She took a deep breath, letting her hands fall in her lap. "I thought you wouldn't because I asked."

"I'm not your sodding slave," he ground out, focusing on the window.

"No, you're not," she agreed. "And I'm not saying not to do it just because I want it. I'm asking you not to do it because it will kill me. I get that the vampire reaction is—what it is. But you can't follow through with it. You have to get that I _can't_ live with that."

He didn't say anything.

"I can't make you do anything. In fact, I couldn't stop you. Right now, I couldn't do a thing if you got up and went down there. I can't fight you. I can only talk to you."

"So talk."

"You doing it might not mean anything to you in the long run, but I won't be able to forget. I'll never be able to forgive you. It won't matter why you did it."

His face shifted slightly, though he still didn't look at her. "Anything else?"

"Yes. I didn't think I would ever have to beg you for someone's life," she said quietly.

Her words hung between them like an accusation.

Spike turned to her, a different sort of frown settling over his features. He suddenly looked horribly troubled.

"I didn't think you were like that with me," Buffy said.

His mouth opened slightly. "I—I'm not." He seemed pained.

"Do you want me to beg?" She knew he didn't. From different things he'd said, she knew he'd hate seeing her like that, pleading. Especially right now.

"No." His head seemed to shake by itself. "No."

Especially now, when she was weak and he was strong. It was the idea of the power he held over her—not the idea of any words she might say—that shook him.

He held her saddened gaze, visibly distressed as his expression wavered.

"Please—"

"I won't, alright?" He sighed. "I won't do anything to him."

"Thank you," she breathed.

"Don't say that, either."

After a moment, Spike hesitantly put a hand back on her shoulder. Buffy let him.

"Really," she said. "I mean it."

"If you're waiting for a 'you're welcome,' it's not gonna happen."

"I wasn't."

Buffy exhaled and slowly relaxed beneath his touch. A minute passed, and she leaned into him.

"So what are you gonna do?" he asked.

"I don't know. I'll just…never speak to him again," she finished decidedly.

"Yeah, that'll teach him." The words were snarky, but there was no sting behind them.

"I don't want to teach him. I don't want to have anything to do with him right now."

Spike perked up slightly. "How about I just give him a good scare?"

Buffy glanced at him. "I think it would take a lot to shake Giles up."

Spike raised his brows. Clearly he was up to the challenge.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," she said seriously. "Anyway, Giles isn't the problem right now. He may have helped cause the problem, but the problem is the Watchers that are here and what I'm supposed to do."

Buffy made a fist against his chest. "I'm not strong enough to use a stake. I can barely swing a sword, much less cut through bone. Even if they let me in with a crossbow, I can't hit anything." She slumped against him and let out a shaky breath. "I'm not sure I can do this."

"I could," he said in a low voice.

"You can't do it for me. It doesn't work that way."

"What do you want me to do?"

She sighed. "There's nothing you can do. It's a test for me. And it's not like I'm in immediate danger. The vampire isn't coming after me—if I don't go to the house, I'll never even see him. But…if I don't go to the house, I don't know what will happen with the Watchers. But if I do go to the house…I don't know how to kill a vampire by myself. Not like this."

Spike rested his head against the top of hers. "What are you gonna do?"

"Whenever I figure it out, I'll let you know."

"Alright."

They fell into silence.

She sank deeper into the cushions, and Spike brought his legs up after a moment, stretching them out. Buffy shifted to lie next to him. She liked the way her body fit perfectly between him and the back of the couch.

She could decide what to do in a minute, in an hour. She wasn't supposed to do anything until dark, anyway. Maybe if she could relax and clear her head, a brilliant plan would come to her.

Even if it would be easier to just stay here and forget.

Everything was quiet and still.

It was so quiet and still that Buffy slowly drifted into sleep and remained that way for the better part of the afternoon.

Later, she found herself standing up in the shadowed living room, looking down at the couch and watching Spike sleep. Faith was next to her, wearing dark jeans and a white tank top.

"These dreams are getting weirder and weirder," Buffy said.

"Can't blame me."

"Oh, I think I can." Definitely getting weirder. And getting creepily realistic.

Faith ran an appraising glance over Spike. "He's easy on the eyes."

"Hands off."

"Relax." She sauntered over to the window and peered between the blinds. Some piece of metal on her outfit clinked as she walked. "Sunset."

"Great. Just great."

Buffy idly wondered what would happen if she woke Spike up in her dream. Would he be Spike, or just however much like Spike the dream wanted him to be?

She shook him. Nothing happened.

"Let sleeping vamps lie," Faith said, walking back over. "We need a little girl time. Just us Slayers. So, how's it going?"

"Why do I think you already know?"

She smirked. "Not having much fun recently? No good slays?"

"Fun? You think this is fun?"

"Slaying? Fuck, yeah." Faith wandered toward the kitchen. She casually hopped up on the table, planting her boot on a chair. "Nothing like it."

"Figures."

"Yeah? What does?"

"That you'd like killing."

She laughed. "You're the Slayer. You _are_ a killer."

"I kill vampires! I protect people."

"But it feels good, doesn't it?"

"Because I won! Because I'm doing good!"

Faith shook her head. "You're missing out."

"On what, the dark side? No thank you. I slay because I have to, because I can. I never wanted it. No one wants it."

"I did. No one in my life wanted me for anything, then zap, and I've got this lady showing up saying I'm special, Chosen, the One. It was great." She laughed. "For a while. At least until I figured out they didn't care either, didn't want me for anything except to do their dirty work. So I figured out how to have fun on my own."

Buffy didn't know what to say.

"So…you're not here to make cracks about the Council taking my power away?"

"Actually, I was gonna say that they're self-serving, misogynistic bastards."

Buffy was about to make a remark about Faith knowing the word 'misogynistic,' but she sensed that the other girl was not actually trying to antagonize her.

"So…did you have a Cruci-thingy?" she asked.

"Nah, didn't live long enough."

"Oh." Buffy looked down.

"Eh, what's it matter now?" She hooked her thumbs through her belt loops and jumped off the table.

Buffy suddenly had the thought that human Faith would probably have no trouble killing a vampire in some resourceful and horrible way.

As if reading her mind, Faith looked at Buffy. A slow grin spread across her face. "I know a trick."

* * *

Buffy woke up instantly. She was still draped across Spike, and the living room was now completely dark.

She sat up.

Spike drowsily reached for her, muttering, "Warm."

"I'm not your personal heater." Buffy shook his shoulder. "Wake up. I'm going to kill that vampire."

He was now fully alert. "What? Now?" he asked, immediately followed by, "Not by yourself, you're not."

She shrugged. "Fine, come on. But I'm doing it."

"How?"

Buffy reached for her purse. "I know a trick."

.

.

Night had already fallen, though it was by no means late.

Buffy spotted the house from the end of Pine Street. It stood by itself on one side of the wooded road, a very nice and out of the way location. There was a van parked even farther down the street. Subtle.

"You know they can't see you," Buffy said to Spike as she stepped back around the corner. "That would lead to all kinds of bad. I have to go into the house alone."

He looked at her.

"I said that on the way over," she reminded him. "I'll be fine. I have a plan."

Spike nodded, running a hand over her hair. "Well, go on, then."

"Right." Buffy took a deep breath and rounded the corner. She slowly began her nearly two-block walk down the old road. She wasn't really sure what to expect. Was she just supposed to go in? Or would the Watchers stop her first?

However, as she neared the house, it became evident that while they may have been watching, she was completely alone. Well, that was fine with her.

Buffy took her time as she approached. Finally, she stopped in front of the house. Somewhere inside there was a vampire.

She was nervous. She was cautious. But she wasn't scared.

The windows had been blocked up, she noticed, as she climbed the porch steps. There didn't seem to be anything remarkable about the door, however, which opened inward at her touch.

It also closed by itself once she was inside. Buffy turned at the noise, only to find that the doorknob was missing and the door was stuck tight. So they'd rigged that up quite nicely, then.

She quickly looked around. It was dark except for a flickering glow that came from the adjacent room. Buffy carefully made her way in. There was the fire. Out of curiosity, she flipped the light switch by the door, but wasn't surprised when the lights didn't come on. Abandoned houses generally didn't have their utilities paid up.

Buffy stood close to the fireplace and took in the room. At first she wondered why the vampire (who was presumably free, or she wouldn't have much of a challenge) had left the Watchers' fine unbothered. Then she realized that there was actually nothing to put it out with. The rooms seemed bare except for the broken down wooden furniture. Buffy guessed that the house had either been purposely cleared out, or that most of what could be easily carried away had already been gone when this had been set up for her.

So, the vampire.

She looked at the fire a moment more before she reached for one of the smaller logs. It was near the edge and only half stuck into the blaze. About the size of her arm, it served well enough as a torch.

Buffy started a slow exploration of the house, which was rather large and had a good number of rooms. Really, you'd think that the Watchers would have picked a smaller house. Sunnydale certainly had its share of abandoned property. It would have been a lot less work for them, at least, what with all the time they must have spent closing up the windows.

Finally, she covered the first floor and realized that she had to go upstairs. She was definitely going up before she went down into whatever was in the basement.

She started up the front stairway—because there was no way she was using that little narrow one in the kitchen.

As she came up on the landing, she heard the murmur of voices.

Buffy paused. There was only supposed to be one vampire.

Maybe there was still a Watcher here?

Slowly, she crept closer to the hall.

"…going about my business and they just grabbed me."

"Huh."

"They had nets and everything."

"Wankers."

Buffy halted in her tracks. That voice was very familiar.

"Haven't had a bite in a day. Whenever they're in here, they always have crossbows. And everything's sealed up. But get this—they said the Slayer's gonna show up. If I waste her, I can get out of here."

A chuckle. "And you believed them?"

"Sure."

"How long you been around, mate?"

"A while. So did they get you, too?"

Spike. Spike was in here. Spike was talking to the vampire.

Buffy abruptly felt angry, relieved, and exasperated all at once. Holding her torch, she made her way closer to the room.

"…yeah, I did a couple Slayers. But I don't like to brag."

"Since when?" she asked, pushing open the door.

She could make out Spike and the vampire, both in game face.

"Well, there she is," Spike said.

"I thought I heard someone else here," he said.

"What are you doing?" Buffy demanded.

"Just talkin' to my new buddy…" Spike looked back at the vampire.

"Mike."

"My new buddy, Mike, here." He grinned and slapped the other vampire on the back. "Well, that's the Slayer. Have at her."

Buffy glared at Spike, but she could deal with him later. She held the piece of burning wood in front of her as the vampire closed in.

"She doesn't look so tough," he said.

She thrust it at him when he got within range.

He laughed. "Gonna have to do better than that, little girl."

Buffy knew she had about ten seconds before the vampire realized she had something dangerous. Now wasn't the time for quips, wasn't the time for a good fight. Dusting him was all that mattered.

The vampire lunged at her, but she jumped back and twisted around. He came closer again, and Buffy swung the torch at him. She made several swipes at his head.

Through playing, he grabbed the arm that was holding the torch, meaning to take it away from her. Buffy reacted instantly, pulling her hairspray out of her pocket and shooting it into the flame.

A two-foot column of fire erupted into the vampire's face. He screamed and jumped away, trying to put himself out with his hands. Buffy stepped forward, holding down the spray as the gases continued to combust.

But the vampire was already fully ablaze.

A moment later, he was gone.

She stopped spraying. Her torch flickered wildly for a moment before the flame returned to normal.

Buffy turned to look at Spike.

"You know what?" she said. "I don't even want to know right now. What I do want to know is how did you get in?"

"Picked the cellar padlock."

"Make sure you lock it back on your way out."

Buffy turned on her heel, leaving the room, going down the hall, and walking downstairs. Spike clomped behind her. She went into the living room, and she heard him continue on to the cellar stairs.

She exhaled, sitting down by the fire and putting her torch back in. Give Spike time to get out. She really didn't know where to begin with all the things that were wrong with his being in here.

After a moment, she pulled her stick back out of the fire and went over to the door. Buffy pounded on it loudly.

"Hey! I killed the vampire! I'm alive, so come let me out!"

Over a minute passed.

"Hey! Hello?!"

She heard a noise, and she stepped back as the door creaked open. The first thing she saw was a crossbow, followed by the Watcher behind it.

He glanced around as the door swung fully open, obviously checking to make sure that the vampire wasn't somehow forcing her into saying that she was successful. He and another armed Watcher fanned into the house, taking up positions as a man with a clipboard followed them in.

"Everything seems to be in order," he said to them. "But please begin the sweep."

Buffy appraised him in the glow of the flames. She saw the other two Watchers switch on small electric lanterns as they started to go through the house.

"So are you like the head of the Council?"

He laughed. "Oh, no. He doesn't come out for routine sorts of things like this. Much too busy, you know."

"So can I go now?"

"Certainly. But I must make a report of how you disposed of the vampire."

Buffy smiled. "Like this."

She pulled the hairspray out of her pocket and discharged it into the torch, just a bit too close to the Watcher's head for his comfort, it seemed.

He held his clipboard to his chest as he leaned back from the flare.

After another second, Buffy stopped.

"Quite c-creative. Er, points for ingenuity."

He marked something.

"Well, Miss Summers, I must say you pass with flying colors."

"Yay for me. Here," she said, handing him the torch. She put her hairspray back in her purse.

"Do you always carry that with you?" he asked.

"Yeah. Of course." Buffy shook her head. Men. She dug through her purse. "I've also got lip gloss, foundation, eye shadow, and this thing that's a brush and a comb, though I don't think I could fight vampires with it… And my stake's here, too."

She also had Spike's lighter in her back pocket, in case there hadn't been a fire lit. Her backup plan had been to use it—and probably burn herself horribly in the process. So she was glad at least that Giles had been right about the fire.

"Ah. Well, you're certainly free to go."

"Okay. No offense, but I hope I don't see you guys again. This hasn't been so much with the fun."

Buffy slung her purse over her shoulder and walked out into the night.

Spike appeared at her side when she reached the intersection. Buffy turned on the next street and kept going.

"What the hell were you doing?" she said. "We agreed that I was going in alone."

"You said that. I didn't argue with you."

"You should have told me. No! No, you shouldn't have come! Do you know what could have happened if they had seen you? Do you even understand how badly that could have gone?"

"I think I know how to avoid a few Watchers. Who, by the way, weren't even watchin' the back."

"And what if the cellar hadn't had a lock you could open? What if it hadn't had a cellar, hadn't had a way in?"

"Then I guess you would've been alone. I wouldn't have gone in the front door. Give me a little credit. But yeah, if I could get in, I was gonna."

Buffy glared at him over her shoulder. She continued to walk.

"Oh? Why don't you give me a little credit?" she asked.

"Maybe cause not five hours ago you were slinking around the place afraid to stick your head out the door."

"You didn't think I could do it. You thought you'd have to save me." She was surprised that she felt disappointed.

Spike jumped in front of her, causing her to stop. "What I thought," he said, "was that you were a girl up against a vamp."

"And?"

"I know how easy it is to kill girls," he said in a low voice.

"I'm the Slayer."

"You're a girl who was the Slayer. You'll be the Slayer again. But right now, you're just a girl. Just a girl who's as easy to do as any other girl."

"If that's what you were going to do all along, why not just tell me?"

"You wouldn't have gone along with it. _And_ I didn't want you to be relyin' on me, especially if I couldn't get—" Spike cut himself off. "Look, you made your decision and I made mine. Wasn't gonna do it for you, wasn't gonna stop you, but—"

"But what?"

"I wasn't gonna let you get yourself killed doing it, either."

"I had a plan!"

"Yeah, you did. A good one. But you think no one else had a plan?" Spike leaned in. "You think the ones I killed didn't have plans? All it takes is One. Good. Day. No one's gonna have theirs with you."

"Everything was fine."

"Do you know how easy it would have been for something to go wrong?" he shouted. Spike's hands darted up, but he quickly clenched them as he remembered not to grab her. "Bloody hell, Buffy, do you realize what it would do to me if I lost you?"

He stepped away, taking a breath. "I did what I had to do," he said quietly. "You might've had to risk your life for some bleeding test, but I didn't."

"I didn't risk…" Well, it was a little risk. A part of Buffy knew that something could have gone wrong. But she also had known that she couldn't go in thinking like that. She had to be confident; she couldn't afford to second-guess herself. "I knew I could do it."

"It wasn't that I thought you couldn't do it."

"Pick a side, Spike. Either you thought I could or not."

"You still know what you know about slaying. You know about vamps. You're smart and you had a plan. And it was bloody brilliant, luv. I'm not just sayin' that. But I know how fast a fight can turn. I know how little it takes, how they don't even realize you have them until— So you wanna be mad about it, fine. But I'm not gonna be sorry for watchin' your back."

Watching her back. Spike being there just in case—not there because he thought she needed a rescue, thought she couldn't do it on her own.

"Okay," she said. "I get that. I guess. And it's not like I'm opposed to doing things with you. Obviously. But did you stop and think what would have happened if the Watchers had seen you? How bad it would be for me if they found out I was with a vampire?"

"Was just tryin' to keep you safe."

"How that could endanger me?" she continued.

"Alright," he said. "Maybe. But I really wouldn't have walked in the front door."

"Okay," she said. "Okay." Buffy brought her hands to her head. It hurt, and she had already kept him from doing something far worse today. "I'm just so sick of fighting today. I'm so _sick_ of it." She sighed, running her hands through her hair. "Nothing happened, it's done now, so let's just _stop_. We both did what we had to do. And I'm done. And the Cruciamentum is done, and I don't want to talk about it any longer than I have to."

Spike tilted his head uncertainly. "So we're good?"

"Yeah."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. This time."

Spike suddenly looked sharply to the right. Then he cocked his head farther to the side.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Ssh."

He pulled her into a yard, moving behind some bushes.

After a moment, she heard the voices herself.

"…nah, nuns are his thing."

"Just saying. He does like to torture people who've heard of him, y'know."

Buffy peered through the leaves and made out the shape of two vampires walking down the street.

"We could always take one back for him," the vampire continued.

"Trying to suck up to the boss?"

"I bet he'll be sorry he missed the fun. How long do you think a Watcher keeps?"

The other vampire laughed. "Few days. Might go bad before he gets back. So, where's the place?"

"Down that turn there. Saw them down there yesterday. Dunno what they're doing."

"Well, we should at least be able to grab one. Have some fun." Then he paused, sniffing the air. "Although…I think there's some fun right here."

A hand shot between the bushes, grabbing the front of Buffy's shirt. Spike's hand was just as fast, yanking the vampire's arm forward and pulling him onto a waiting stake.

Buffy backed out of the bushes, Spike by her side. The other vampire was still standing on the sidewalk. He looked at the dust on the ground.

"That was a stupid thing to do," he said, crouching to attack.

"Really?" Spike asked. "I don't think it was."

The vampire glanced at Buffy before he looked back at Spike. "Don't want to share, I take it?"

"She's mine."

The fight was over so quickly it wasn't even a fight. Within seconds, the second vampire's dust had joined the first one's.

Buffy punched Spike in the arm. "'She's _mine_?' Can we get any more caveman? God, why don't you just mark me?"

"Didn't mind the last time I said you were mine."

"Because that was all deep and romantic, not all possessive and grrr! And why did you have to dust both of them?"

Spike put the stake back in his pocket, giving her an irritated look. "Oh, don't tell me you wanted a go at them, too."

"Nope, one vampire killing is my limit tonight. And I no longer have the flame for my hairspray of flamey death. But it sounded like they were talking about Angelus. We could have heard something important."

"Like he's got a fetish for nuns?" he scoffed. "I could have told you that."

"How about what he's doing? Where he is?"

"Stake first, ask questions later."

"That's not helpful. It sounded like he hadn't been around. And I know he hasn't been bothering us. Which is really, really weird, considering that he's probably got some sort of blood vendetta against you now."

"Fine. Later we'll find another vamp, ask him questions, and _then_ stake him."

Buffy sighed. "I know I'm the Slayer when these are my plans." Then she smiled, looking in the direction of Pine Street. "You do realize you might have just saved a Watcher?"

Spike scowled. "Bugger."


	77. Stages

On Wednesday, Buffy went to class. It was refreshing to do something so horribly normal. No vampires or Watchers or slaying. She almost enjoyed listening to the lectures.

However, afterward, she knew she had to go by the Magic Box.

Willow was behind the counter when she came in, and Oz was leaning casually against it, talking to her. There weren't any customers in the store.

They both looked up as the bell announced her presence.

"Buffy!" Willow beamed. "You're all okay! I mean, not that I thought you wouldn't be, and Giles already said you were fine, but yay!"

"What did Giles say?"

"Just that you were fine. The Council reported it to him or something."

"Is he here?"

"Yeah." Willow looked towards the back room. "But he hasn't come out or said much. So how did you do it?" she asked eagerly.

Buffy actually found herself smiling.

"There was this fire, right? So I grabbed a stick." She picked up a candle from the display and held it out like a torch. "And I'm going through the house looking for the vampire. And when I see him, he's all, 'Gonna have to do better than that,' and I'm like, 'Yeah, I know.' So I took my hairspray—" she mimed holding a can up to the candle "—and whoosh!" Buffy opened her hand and shot it forward. "Instant fiery pillar of vampire death."

"Wow."

"I like it," Oz said. "It's not subtle."

"Sort of subtle," Willow said. "Cause who would see it coming?"

"True." He considered. "The fire itself isn't subtle, but the execution is understated."

"Yeah," Buffy said. "This could be my new favorite way to dust. Although, it's sort of a disadvantage because you have to use two hands."

"It was quite brilliant."

They all turned at the voice. Giles was standing at the back of the store.

"Hello, Buffy."

"Hi."

"May I perhaps speak to you for a moment?" He glanced at Willow and Oz. "Privately?"

Buffy crossed her arms, staying in place. "I'm not going back there with you. I might need witnesses."

"Very well," he said stiffly. He looked resigned as he began. "I am sorry. You must believe that. It wasn't what I wanted to do, but I didn't have a choice. If I hadn't done it, it would have been done a different way. I never meant to—to—"

"Betray me?"

"Hurt you," Giles finished.

"That sort of seemed to be the point of it to me."

"Emotionally hurt you."

"Well, guess what? You did. And look! Physically hurt, too." Buffy pulled her jacket off. Maybe it was a low blow, but she didn't care. She wanted Giles to feel guilty.

He looked at her arm. "Is that from last night?"

"No."

"From the vampire that bit you earlier?"

"Yeah."

"How were you able to kill it?"

She gave Giles a tight smile. "My dangerous boyfriend."

Buffy sighed. While trying to convince Spike not to kill Giles, she had realized how truly angry with Giles she wasn't. She recognized to some extent that this hadn't been Giles's idea, that he had only played the part he was instructed to. But that didn't stop her from feeling hurt.

Buffy pulled her jacket back up. "Look. I'm the Slayer. And you're my Watcher. But we're not friends. Maybe we can be again someday, but not right now."

He looked down, but slowly nodded.

"I understand that you're upset," Giles said. "But I hope that, in time, I—I can make it up to you. Whatever I can do. I—I've been working on your prophecy," he added.

He looked slightly hopeful.

"Oh," Buffy said. "Good."

There was a short silence, and he stepped forward a bit.

"May I ask how you thought to defeat the vampire? The Council gave me a report. You really were quite ingenious."

Buffy considered. "I don't know. I'm not going to be disqualified, am I?"

Giles frowned. "I don't know what you mean. But whatever you tell me, it will be in confidence."

What the heck? Throw Giles a bone. A small one.

"Faith told me how. I had a dream, and she just told me."

"That's extraordinary."

"Yeah, ghost girl was useful for once."

He took off his glasses. "You're sure it simply didn't come to you in sleep?"

"Definitely sure. There's no way I could have thought of something as twisted as that."

_-----"A lighter and a spray can." Faith licked her lips._

_It took Buffy a moment to realize what she meant. "Where do you come up with this stuff?"_

_"Saw it in a backroom bar fight. Poker game got out of hand. This dude just grabs the cooking spray and fries the guy who beat him up. The guy was lighting his cigarette."-----_

While that had slightly taken the shine off her new vamp killing trick, Giles's next words removed it completely.

"Come to think of it, I believe she nearly did something similar to Wesley."

Buffy made a face. "Lovely."

"Has Faith said anything else to you?"

"Yeah. She said, 'Angelus killed me, stay away from vampires, the Council are bastards.' Can I go now?"

There was another awkward silence.

"Very well."

Buffy turned, smiling slightly. "See you around, Willow. Oz."

Willow smiled and he nodded.

As the shop door closed behind her, Giles sank down in a chair. He glanced up at Willow. "I suppose you are angry with me as well?"

Her brow wrinkled, and she paused before answering. "On the one hand, I know it's a Watcher thing and you didn't have a choice. But on the other hand, how could you do that?" She waved her arms. "I get why Buffy's angry. I would be, too. But it's between you and her."

"I see."

"Oh, but one more thing." Willow raised her brows and lifted a finger, an over bubbly smile on her face. "If there's ever some witchy test like that you do to me, I'll have to find a way to get ya. Okie-dokie?"

"There isn't, but understood."

Willow smiled. "Just so we're clear."

* * *

Buffy went back to the apartment and found Spike stretched out halfway on the bed, leaning against propped up pillows.

"Were you going to sleep?" she asked.

"Thinkin' about a nap."

Buffy got on the opposite side of the bed, sitting back and sticking her feet out.

"Have a good day?" Spike said.

"I did, actually."

"Stronger yet?"

"Nope."

It was quiet for a minute, and then Buffy turned to look at him.

"I used to have this fantasy—"

"Sounds good so far." Spike leered.

"This _daydream_," she continued, "about things I would do with my boyfriend. One of them was wrestling."

"Wrestling?" He looked disbelieving.

"You know, play wrestling. I wouldn't actually be able to beat him, of course, but we'd roll around on the floor and sometimes he'd let me win. It'd be fun."

"We never did that."

"Yeah, well, we weren't really together. And then we were actually fighting every day, so not much point. And of course I was as strong as you."

Spike suddenly shoved her, sending her toppling to the side.

"Oops," he said innocently.

And then it was on.

Buffy pounced, tackling him. She pressed him back against the pillows, straddling him as she tried to get hold of his hands.

He wedged a knee between their bodies and pushed her backwards. She fell onto the mattress and shrieked as he started tickling her. Buffy wiggled and kicked, finally managing to roll out from underneath him. She started to crawl away, but hands on her feet flipped her over and started pulling her back to the head of the bed.

Spike had a wicked grin on his face as he reeled her in. "Goin' somewhere, luv?"

"Right here." Buffy grabbed a pillow, hitting him over the head with it.

She planted a foot on his chest, pushing back, and managed to get her other leg away from him. She swung the pillow again, but he caught it and leapt at her, pinning her near the edge of the bed. Some part of her mind registered that he never touched her upper arms.

Buffy used her legs to try and flip them over. He let her after a moment, and she ended up on top of him in the middle of the bed. Then he smirked, grabbing her close and rolling. He was on top once again, but only for an instant.

Spike kept going, and Buffy had the sensation of dropping as he rolled them right over the edge. He purposefully landed on bottom, easily catching her against his chest. Buffy started to push herself up, but Spike locked his arms around her, keeping her firmly in place.

"No fair," she complained. "The one on top is the winner."

Spike tightened his grip on her. "Sometimes you have to fight dirty."

"I know," she said mischievously.

Her hands crept down his sides and tickled, causing his grip to loosen. She giggled and twisted off him, but he was after her in a second. Spike caught her and she tried to tickle him again, but he took her wrists and planted them against the floor on either side of her head. Buffy twisted, and he let her flip them again.

They rolled several more times on the rug. He laughed and smiled just as much as she did as they tumbled together over the floor.

Spike finally paused when they were at the edge of the room and he had her pinned next to the wall. Buffy writhed, but he didn't immediately let her up. Spike smirked as he looked down at her.

"Do you know what cute noises you make when you're tryin' to get away?"

She thrashed against him. "Do not."

"Do so."

Buffy continued to struggle, trying in vain not to make any noise.

He grinned and then his grasp lessened. Buffy pushed him to the side, straddling him as she caught his arms and pushed them to the carpet.

Spike went still beneath her. "Looks like you won, luv."

"Of course. The girlfriend always wins."

"So now what?"

A sly smile graced her lips as she moved his arms above his head and stretched herself out over him. "The winner gets to have sex with the loser. That's how it goes, right?"

"Seems like a good suggestion, if I recall."

Buffy slid her hands down his arms as she rubbed herself against him. She felt him hardening beneath her. Giggling, she reached for his belt buckle.

* * *

-

-

Her strength was back by the next day. She and Spike made plans to go patrolling, but Buffy spent most of her day at home. She was less enthusiastic about doing her homework than she had been about going to her classes the day before, but she managed to slog through it.

She was also having dinner with her mother, which she hadn't done in several days. Joyce had not so subtly asked about Spike again. Once her mother had gotten over the shock of him being a vampire, she had latched on to the fact that he had been around for over one hundred years, and was now determined to get some historical details out of him.

Buffy actually felt a bit sorry for Spike, but promised that she would bring him around soon.

* * *

It was near closing time. There hadn't been a customer in over half an hour. At least some people realized that they shouldn't be out after dark in this town. Giles had sometimes wondered if people who frequented magic shops were more aware of what came out at night.

He turned to put his book back on the shelf and was surprised to find someone right behind him. He couldn't help the slight gasp that escaped his lips.

"I'm sorry, I thought I was quite alone. I didn't hear the bell."

"Didn't you?"

Giles placed him. Buffy's significant other.

"The bell did ring," he said.

"Of course," Giles said, suddenly unsure why he felt uncomfortable.

The other man smiled and walked away, meandering through the store.

"Can I, er, help you find something?"

"Yeah. Buffy wants to do the place up."

"Place?"

"My place." He picked up a crystal and set it back down. Then he picked up a statue, looking bored. "Not sure if she'd like this." He carelessly flipped it around.

"That's—rather expensive," Giles said, resisting the urge to go take the statue away from him.

"Is it?"

He'd managed to pick up one of the most expensive items in the store.

"Oh, well. Sorta ugly." He set it back down, moving around the shelves again. "Candles. She wanted some candles."

"Ah. Well, we have plenty of candles. What type?"

"Somethin' that will burn a while. How about some of those pillar ones?"

"All of our non-magical candles are on the far wall, there," Giles said, gesturing.

He made no movement, just looked at the wall, and then pointedly at Giles.

Resisting the urge to mutter about bloody rude customers, Giles crossed the store himself. "How many?" he asked curtly.

"Four or five."

Giles took five candles off the shelf. He set them down on the counter and went behind the register.

"Will that be all?"

He nodded. "Thanks, mate," he said agreeably.

Giles momentarily wondered if he had imagined the malice. He rang up the candles and began putting them in a bag. "Buffy, er, told me how you saved her life."

"Really. Cause she told me how you risked hers."

"That's—Watchers must— That isn't any of your business."

He slowly leaned on the countertop. "See, here's the thing. It is my business. Anything that hurts her automatically becomes my business."

"She wasn't hurt."

"Good for you."

"Is that some sort of threat?"

He said nothing, but just tilted his head to the side. His gaze never wavered.

"Your total is $16.42," Giles said brusquely. He took the twenty from the outstretched hand and put the change on the counter.

"Count it back."

"What?"

"Don't stores do that anymore?" He smirked, before his face became severe. "Count. It back."

There was no reason that he should feel so intimidated by the other man. Yet Giles couldn't help the feeling of unease that settled over him.

But he found himself counting the change back.

"I know what you're thinking."

"I sincerely doubt it," Giles said.

He grinned, putting the money in his pocket and picking up the bag. "You're thinkin' about tellin' Buffy about this. If she were speakin' to you, that is."

This was exactly the sort of thing he had tried to make a point about to Buffy. "I'm thinking that it's a shame Buffy became involved with someone who shows her one face and shows everyone else the other."

To Giles's immense surprise, he laughed. "Believe me, she's seen all my faces."

Giles bit back a remark about Buffy perhaps having poor judgment. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave now. The store is closing."

He could find no rational explanation for the supreme relief he felt when he was once again alone.

* * *

Buffy was patrolling with Spike later that night when he suddenly pulled her to the side and pointed up ahead. There were three vamps walking down the street—the first they'd seen tonight.

"Those are Angelus' minions," he said.

"How can you tell?"

"I saw them once."

Buffy squinted. "All vamps look the same."

Spike sort of glared at her.

"Well, not you, obviously."

He turned back around, and they waited until the vampires were nearer. Then they stepped out onto the street.

"So," Buffy said. "Who knows something about Angelus?"

One vampire stepped forward. "I don't know anything," he said cockily.

Spike staked him before he knew what was happening. "Not much use then," he said. "Who else doesn't know anything?" he challenged.

The vampire toward the rear took off running down the street. Buffy caught hold of the remaining one and twisted his arm back when he took a swing at her. Spike grabbed him on the other side and pushed him up against a tree. Buffy bent his arm around the tree while Spike pinned the vampire with his body.

"So," Spike said casually, "what do you know?"

The vampire growled and struggled, but he couldn't get leverage with both of them on him.

"Guess he's not useful, either," Buffy commented.

"Guess not." Spike pushed the stake against the vampire's chest.

"What do you want to know?" the vampire exclaimed.

"Now we're getting somewhere," Spike said.

"If—if I tell you, you'll let me go, right?"

He glanced at Buffy, a look passing between them. "Yeah, I will."

"Angelus—he, he left town."

Spike pressed the stake in harder. "Gonna have to do better than that."

"Where did he go?" Buffy asked.

"I don't know."

Spike jabbed his elbow into the vampire's throat.

He made choking noise as he tried to say something.

"I know vampires don't have to breathe," Buffy said, "but I don't think he can talk when you're doing that."

Spike let up slightly.

"I really don't know!" the vampire sputtered as Spike forced his chin up. "You think he tells us anything?"

"What _do_ you know, mate? Cause I'm losing patience."

"When did he leave?" Buffy said.

"Just over a week ago."

"Is he coming back?"

"Of course."

"Drusilla?" Spike asked evenly.

"He took her with him. Drusilla—" he cut off.

"What about Dru?"

"The few days after…Darla, she wasn't right. She'd stare out off the porch, ramble on for hours. Angelus wasn't around a lot. He'd leave early to kill and not come back until dawn. One night he came back and she had a fire going in the middle of the floor. She was throwing all of Darla's dresses into it, singing that she was sending them to her. He shouted at her and tore one out of her hands, saying it was Darla's favorite. Angelus smacked her and she started screaming. She wouldn't stop after that, started wailing and rambling on."

"What did she say?"

"She—she was almost incoherent—ranting about the fire in the yard, and grandmother and the sun, and the moon and the stars. She just kept screaming and screaming. Then suddenly it was dead quiet. I thought maybe Angelus had just done her in. But a minute later, he comes out to the hall. He had the strangest look on his face—completely calm. He told us to go steal him a car. They left that night."

The vampire was quiet, obviously finished.

"Is that it?" Spike asked.

"Yeah. So…you're gonna let me go, right?"

Spike stepped back. "Yeah."

Buffy staked the vampire.

"But she won't," he said with a smirk. Spike looked at Buffy. "Not very sporting, pet."

"Oh, please. Like you were going to let him just go back and tell on us." She was silent for a moment. "So what do you think all that means?"

"He's up to something."

"But what? He needs something? He knows something?"

Spike sighed. "I have no idea."

* * *

Buffy had felt obligated to go by the Magic Box the next night and tell Giles about Angelus.

"Hey," Willow said when she came in.

"Hey. Is Giles here?"

"He's in the back."

Buffy nodded. "I guess I need to talk to him."

She noticed Xander sitting at the big table with Anya. "Hey, Xander." She started to walk back to the training room, but paused. "You know, we should all go to the Bronze sometime. Do something."

Then she went into the back, shutting the door behind her.

"What's with the Buffster?"

"She doesn't like hanging around here anymore," Anya said. "Giles took her powers away and tried to feed her to a vampire."

"He did not!" Willow said. "It was…a test. And it's a long story."

"No, it's not. I just told it. Anyway, it's no wonder I'd never actually heard of that. I never talked to Watchers."

"How is it that I miss these things?" Xander asked.

"You have a job," Anya said. "A nice job that isn't here and that pays a lot."

"So who's going to fill me in?"

Willow pulled up a chair.

.

.

Buffy told Giles what the vampire had said about Angelus leaving town, and then she turned to leave.

"Buffy," he started hesitantly. "I wanted to— Could I talk to you about something personal?"

They were alone, but she didn't particularly want to talk to him about anything personal.

"What?" she said testily, refusing to sit down on the couch with him.

"Will—was it?—came in yesterday."

Will? Oh, right.

"And?"

"He—he was rather rude, and, well, hostile."

"What did he do?" Buffy asked, feeling a bit angered that Spike had done something to Giles after he'd promised not to.

Giles looked like he was trying to figure out what to say. "He purchased some candles," he finally said.

Buffy had noticed the candles on their dresser. "Is that it?" she said.

"He made me get them and count his change back."

"Gee, it sort of sounds like he bought some candles."

"Buffy, it wasn't what he did, but how he did it. His entire manner was nothing but threatening. He implied that it was beneficial to me that you hadn't gotten hurt."

"Are you going somewhere with this? Is this the part where you tell me he's nothing but bad news?"

"I'm merely concerned."

"Well, you don't get to be. Is that it?"

"Actually, no." He gestured to the books spread beside him. "There's something I do get to be concerned about. I believe I've found your prophecy."

Buffy's mood shifted. "Oh. So…?"

Giles tapped his pen, glancing down. "Simply translated: The Slayer that is called the latest will live the longest."

She was silent for a moment. "That's great, isn't it? What's bad about that?"

"Yes, well, nothing inherently. But the prophecy continues, stating that said Slayer will make 'an unholy alliance, a pact with the dark forces to prolong her life.'"

"Um, so not doing that. No darkness pacts here."

He turned to look at her. "Buffy, there's nothing in this book that does not come to pass in some form or another."

"So? What about free will and all that? I'll just make sure future me does nothing of the sort."

Giles was silent.

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

"No," he admitted. "Though perhaps I should do more research."

She paused. "I suppose you'll be telling the Council that I'm the next bad Slayer now."

"Buffy, despite what you may believe, I do not set out to purposely endanger you. I'm certainly not going to inform the Council."

"Isn't it your duty?" she snapped.

"I only did my bloody duty before because they were here and I didn't have a choice!"

She was taken aback by how upset he looked.

"Okay," she said quietly.

Giles looked back down.

Buffy shouldered her purse. "Fine. You don't tell the Council, and I won't make any demonic bargains."

* * *

-

-

It wasn't until the next night, when Spike was sinking his teeth into her jugular that it hit her.

Buffy brought her hand up to the back of his head.

As unholy alliances went, she could have done a lot worse.


	78. Secrets

_-----"You do realize you've made a deal with the devil, Slayer?"-----_

-

-

Spike had his head resting on her shoulder. They were on the couch, and he was still mostly on top of her.

Buffy ran her fingers through his hair. "You left the gel out."

"I did."

"I like it."

A silence.

"I just had an epiphany," Buffy said.

"About my hair?"

"Lovely as that would be, no. Giles found my prophecy yesterday. Apparently, I'm going to be the longest lived Slayer."

Spike propped himself up, looking down at her. "Can't say as I'm displeased with that."

"Oh, I'm definitely pleased. Considering that at the beginning, Wesley gave me the wonderful expiration date of one year."

"Sounds like a bloody marvelous prophecy to me." Spike gradually brought his lips to hers.

Buffy kissed him back, but slowly smiled. "You haven't heard the rest of it."

He pulled back. "Oh?"

"The way I stay alive so long is by making 'an unholy alliance,' a deal with evil forces to prolong my life.'"

He frowned. "Doesn't exactly sound like somethin' you'd do."

"I've already done it." She gave him a look.

Spike studied her for a moment. Then he grinned. "Me."

"Yep. I said I wanted you to make me the best because I didn't want to die. I think that qualifies as making a deal to prolong my life."

"Go figure. Never heard of a prophecy that seems like what it is."

"I know, right? It sounds so bad, but it's really not." Buffy frowned, considering. "On the other hand, a Slayer making a blood deal with an infamous vampire _is_ sort of bad."

"Nah. It's just me and you."

She paused. "Sort of funny, though, isn't it?"

"What?"

"That William the Bloody was destined to keep a Slayer alive."

"Sod the Slayer. I keep you alive." His hand brushed over her face.

"I know."

"So you gonna tell the Watcher?"

She stiffened. "I'm not telling Giles anything."

"You're not tellin' him because you're not tellin' him anything, or you not tellin' him because you'd have to tell him about me?"

"I'm not telling him anything. Let him worry about it for a few weeks. I won't be mad at him by then. I mean, is it some sort of rule that Watchers have to lie to Slayers? What's with all the secrets?"

Spike snorted. "Yeah. And you don't have a secret."

Buffy paused. "Does it bother you that no one knows about you?"

"What do I care about them?"

"Anyway, not telling about you is different," she insisted. "I was doing what I thought was best for me, not what I thought was best for them. I didn't mess with someone else's life. Wesley kept things from me on purpose. Giles drugged me. But even if he had to do that, why couldn't he have told me? Would it have been so bad for me to know about it? Oh, and by the way, Giles told me about your little shopping spree."

"Yeah?"

"You were threatening." She fixed a slight glare on him.

"I was menacing. It's completely different."

"Is that so?" She arched a brow.

"Didn't lay a finger on him. Didn't even vamp out." He smirked. "I was just your average pissed off bloke."

Buffy giggled. "Oh, please. You're not the average anything." Then she looked at him seriously. "Don't buy any more candles."

* * *

The next night, she and Spike patrolled. They had already gone through the cemeteries, where they had each staked a few vampires, and were now walking along the streets behind the Bronze.

There was a sudden scream, and Buffy sped up, Spike following behind her.

As she rounded the corner, Buffy momentarily halted in surprise. There wasn't a vamp, just a guy and girl. He had her down on the concrete. Her top was ripped and she was shouting and struggling as he tried to get his pants open.

Buffy quickly recovered, rushing forward and pulling the guy off the girl. He hit her as she yanked him up, and Buffy kicked, sending him to the ground. She heard his head hit the pavement, and he didn't immediately move again. She'd knocked him out, she realized.

Buffy turned to the girl, kneeling down. "Are you all right?"

"I'm—I'm fine." She pulled at her shirt up and her skirt down, and stood on shaky legs. She looked around and then fished her purse out of the muck.

"Do you have a way home, or—"

"I'll get a cab. Thanks for, you know, stopping him." She was already backing out of the alley.

Buffy moved towards her. "Wait. You should—"

"I—I should go. Thank you."

"—should report it or something," Buffy finished as the girl disappeared around the corner.

Spike was slowly making his way over. He stopped in front of the unconscious man.

Buffy sighed. "Well, that was different and bad. I think I prefer vamps." She glanced down, stepping back to where the guy was. "What am I supposed to do with him now?"

Spike looked at the pavement. "You should let me stop him."

He was staring at the man. Hungrily.

"I thought you liked biting women," flew out of her mouth.

"I'll take what I can get."

Buffy looked at him for a moment. "Whatever you have in mind by that, I'm sure my answer is no."

"It's like poetic justice—attacker being attacked." He was still gazing at the sprawled body.

"What? Why do you even care?" she asked. "Like vampires don't do the same thing."

Spike turned on her. "What?" His voice was dangerously low.

She suddenly felt trapped. "I know—you've got a past. But I made my peace with it."

"Well, you better unmake your peace with that bit, cause it never happened."

Buffy took a step into his space. "Oh? Remember, 'fucked them and drained them'?"

"I didn't rape 'em."

"You killed them."

"They wanted the sex."

"They wanted to die, too?"

"_Vampire_. Kind of what I do." Spike made a face. "Gotta eat, right? Yeah, I killed 'em." He pointed a finger at her. "But there's a difference and you know it."

Buffy crossed her arms and looked away. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

He chuckled humorlessly. "Whatever you say, luv."

"Fine," she said icily. "You were only a murderer." Then Buffy gave a bitter laugh. "You know, I bet I'm the only girl to sleep with you and survive."

"Don't."

"I should feel honored," she continued.

"Yeah?" he growled. "Maybe you should."

Bizarre as it was, he almost had a point. Something about her had made Spike look twice. Had made him see her as more than the usual.

Suddenly, the man at their feet groaned. He slowly rolled over and pushed himself up. He stood, uncertainly glancing back and forth between the two of them.

Buffy was ready to make some statement about girls fighting back, but Spike slipped into game face.

He nodded towards Buffy. "She just wants to stop you. I want to eat you." He took a step forward.

The guy made a terrified gasping noise as he backed away from Spike. He started running a moment later, disappearing around the corner of the street.

Spike didn't move, only watched him go. He turned back to her, pointing in the direction the man had gone. "I come across that on my own, I'm considerin' it takeout."

"I can't let just you—"

"I won't kill 'em, I'll just have me some. Besides, you said no killing. Taking a bite, you said nothin' about."

"That's not what I meant."

"I could've been doing that all along, you know. But I wasn't tryin' to exploit the sodding loopholes." He paused. "Bloody hell, what's it matter? You shouldn't care about protectin' wankers like that anyway."

"Why do you care?" she asked.

"I don't," came the simple reply.

It was just an excuse, she realized. Spike didn't care about justice. He wouldn't be out looking for girls to save, he'd be out looking for people it was morally acceptable for him to take a bite out of.

"We—we have laws to deal with humans."

"Yeah, and those work so well. Like that little chit who ran off? She won't go to your police. He'll be at it again. Good job, luv."

She didn't say anything for a moment. Spike's human face returned, twisted into an angered scowl.

"You told me you wouldn't do anything," Buffy said.

"Yeah, I did. But do you know how bloody _hard_ it is? Your blood's a tasty treat, but sometimes I just want to hunt something. Hunt, feed, kill—it doesn't just go away because I say I won't."

She looked at him with a hurt expression. "Are you saying you can't do it?"

"No, I'm sayin' it'd be nice to take the edge off once in a while, and this seems like as good a solution as any."

"What do you want from me? To give you permission?"

"Maybe to take a step back and realize the world isn't black and white. Which shouldn't be too difficult, really, considerin' you have no problem gettin' cozy with yours truly."

Buffy felt like she had something to uphold, though she wasn't exactly sure what it was supposed to be. She really didn't care about what happened to criminals. At the same time, she couldn't stand by and watch anyone be killed.

But did it make her a horrible person if she didn't forbid Spike from biting someone who was attacking another person?

"Biting people is—wrong."

"_Wrong_?" he demanded. "Maybe killin' vampires is wrong. Maybe they want to live just as much as you do."

"You don't care about other vampires."

"No, I don't. And I don't care about people. Everything is wrong, depending on who you ask. But I don't think anyone much cares about what happens to the dregs."

Suddenly Spike pushed her up against the wall, pinning her with his body. She could have thrown him off, but she didn't.

"What if it had been you?" he said in low voice. "Just a normal little girl again, couldn't fight him off, couldn't get away? Dragged off so he could have his fun again and again? Would you care what happened to him?"

Buffy said nothing.

"Well?" he demanded, forcing her to look at him.

"No."

"What would you _want_ to happen to him?"

There was silence. "Anything," she finally whispered.

He smiled.

"So I'd want something to happen to them, that doesn't make it—"

Buffy cut herself off. Spike was equating a random person with her. He didn't do that. To Spike, there were people, and then there was her.

This was more than him trying to make a point about biting people.

He was almost taking this personally. He didn't take things personally unless they had to do with her. But the girl she'd just saved had nothing to do with her. Yet here he was, demanding to know what she would want done if it had been her being taken.

And something clicked.

Buffy stared at him with wide eyes. "You killed him."

"Who?"

"The guy who tried to kidnap me—you—you— That's why all of a sudden it was safe, wasn't it? Someone killed him—but it was you."

"Yeah," he said indifferently. "It was."

"You _killed_ someone for me."

Suddenly he was in her face, daring her to make an issue of it. "I've killed lots of people. What's one more?"

Buffy laughed abruptly, a hollow cackle. What was one more? It was a drop in the bucket to everything he'd done. There was no reason that this particular death of someone she didn't know should matter more than the thousands of others.

Except that he had done it for her.

Buffy pushed Spike off. "You didn't have to kill him."

"Didn't have to. But I wanted to."

"Did you kill the guy that replaced him, too?"

"No. Threatened him, though." He stuck his hands in his pockets.

"You couldn't have threatened the first guy?"

"He was the one who started it. And he had more than kidnappin' planned."

It took another moment for his words to sink in. Buffy felt sick as she realized the connection between herself and the girl she'd saved. She looked down at the ground. "And that's what would have happened to me—if you—"

"Yeah," he said quietly.

She was silent for a moment. "He was the one you tortured?"

"He was."

"I was the one he was going to do worse to."

Spike met her gaze. "You were."

She pushed away from the wall. "But that doesn't make sense. Why would… Even if he—like revenge—that wouldn't get him any money back."

He looked at her, expressionless. "I'm sure there was profit to be made."

Buffy just stared at him. "Profit to be— You don't mean—"

Spike gave her a hard look.

"Oh my God." She turned around, resting her forehead against the bricks. "Oh, God."

"I took care of it."

Buffy suddenly felt like throwing up. Though she wasn't entirely sure whether it was because of what Spike had done, or what someone else had intended to do.

She heard him move next to her, saw his shape block out the light.

"I stopped him from hurting you."

"Are you trying to justify it?" she asked.

"No. I don't care. It's done. I'd do it again."

Buffy looked up. "You said you wouldn't—"

"I said I wouldn't kill for dinner," he interrupted, anticipating her. "Wouldn't grab people off the street. Won't even kill losers like that—" He waved an arm in the general direction the man had gone. "But anyone seriously comes after you, messes with us—all bets are off. That's not open for discussion. I _will_ kill someone before I see you dead or worse."

Or worse. Buffy suddenly thought of 'or worse' and what could have been. She focused on the wall again. "I—I don't—I—but—"

"No need to thank me, luv. I know you can't."

She couldn't tell if he was being serious or sarcastic. Or both.

"You—you shouldn't have done it—that way," she said, looking down. "There had to be something besides killing. But I'm—I mean—of course I wouldn't have wanted to be—I—" Buffy took a deep breath. "Why—why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Then? Cause I didn't even want to admit why I did it."

"And later?" she asked, finally looking up.

"Would you have wanted to hear it?"

"No. I mean, I wouldn't have _wanted_ to hear it, but I could have dealt with it. I guess. You've told me plenty of other stuff I didn't want to hear, why not this?"

"Because then I would've had to tell you why," he said softly. "And you didn't need to know."

"That you killed someone?"

"You never needed to know what would have happened to you." Spike's hand brushed over her hair. "Nothin' like that should happen to you."

Even then he had thought that about her. Before there had been anything real between them. When she had just been some girl he'd been trying not to like.

Granted, it wasn't something huge for a vampire to kill someone. He killed, though she hadn't known it at the time. It was the fact that he'd killed solely to protect that made it significant.

Spike looked at her carefully for a moment. "So I suppose we're gonna have it out now?"

She didn't say anything at first.

"No," Buffy replied. "We're not."

"You're not mad?"

"I don't know," she said blankly. "I wish you hadn't done it, but I'm not sorry that I'm here." She swallowed. "You've killed lots of people. I don't like thinking about it, but that doesn't change that it's true. There's no reason I should care more about his death than anyone else's. Except that…if I hadn't met you, he wouldn't be dead."

"Are you sayin' it's on you?"

"No, not at all. I'm just saying."

"If I hadn't met you, _you_ would be dead."

Buffy closed her eyes. "I know."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing." She sighed. "Can we just go home now?"

"If you like."

They left the alley, walking in silence together.


	79. Arrangements

They had been on the road for two weeks.

It had been nineteen days since Darla.

He had gone out every night after that day. He couldn't stand being around Dru. All she did was talk about Darla.

And Spike.

Angelus had killed blonde girls. Two or three a night, sometimes. Cut them up and pretended they were the Slayer. Sometimes he'd pretended that they were Darla when they were beneath him. Their cries of pain could have been her screams of pleasure. She'd liked pain.

But those girls had just been distractions to tide him over.

He hadn't had a plan beyond catching the Slayer somewhere and taking his time using her to get revenge. He'd always wanted to kill her of course, but for this, she would only be an instrument.

He would make Spike watch as he did everything he could think of to that ripe little body before he killed her in front of him. When he was done, Spike would die as well.

It had been a good plan.

Then there had been the night that Dru had started a bonfire in the living room, and all his plans had changed.

* * *

-

-

They needed to talk.

They hadn't actually discussed anything that had happened in the alley. She'd come home and crawled into bed, and had only gotten up in time to go to class the next day. Neither of them had brought up any related topic since. Buffy had suspected that Spike was waiting for her to do it.

So they hadn't talked yet. But she had been thinking.

Spike was asleep.

Buffy wasn't.

It was the afternoon, and he was napping. She was attempting to, especially since she had volunteered to watch Oz that night. So far, sleep wasn't happening. But she continued to lie in bed, nestled against the fabric of his shirt.

She wondered, sometimes, how she could rest so easily in the arms of a killer.

Spike was a killer.

Oh, he was many other things as well. But when you stripped it all down, he was a vampire at the core. It colored every single thing he did. Every action, every thought, every utterance was influenced by what one hundred plus years of being a vampire had made him.

Even if he never killed another person, he would still be a killer.

It was easy to forget that sometimes. When he smiled at her, hugged her, helped her. When he carried up the groceries even though she was just as strong, when he kissed her before fastening the strap on her motorcycle helmet.

He was a complete mess of contradictions. He was sweet and affectionate. But he could be cold and brutal. Not to her—never to her—but it was always there. And it would always be there.

And she was in love with him.

She loved Spike.

Maybe she shouldn't. Maybe it was wrong to love someone who had callously caused so much pain and death for so many years.

But she couldn't pick who she fell in love with. And they had shared too much for her not to want a life with him.

She didn't think about the past, about the countless people whose lives he had ended. If she did, she would go crazy. She could only acknowledge that it had happened and that it was horrible. There was nothing that could be done to change it, whether she was with him or not. She had decided long ago that she could accept the past as long as it didn't repeat itself.

That had been when she'd tried not to be in love with him—when things between them had been so uncertain. Buffy had known that she'd liked him, and that she probably shouldn't, but she couldn't help it. However, she also had been sure that things between them were going to end.

No matter what she'd felt, she'd firmly told herself that it wasn't love. Because it would be so much more crushing when she had to leave him if it was. So she hadn't been in love.

Spike had, though.

He'd said it first.

In the days after that, Buffy had realized that she loved him. That she'd loved him already, but hadn't been able to think about it until now—now that loving didn't mean more pain in the future.

But she still hadn't been able to say it. It had barely been three weeks ago that he'd told her, saying that he wanted her to know but that she didn't have to say anything back.

Spike had said it since then, though he hadn't seemed disappointed when she didn't return the sentiment. But Buffy knew he wanted to hear it. How could he not? Even if it wasn't right now, he expected to hear the words from her sometime.

But she didn't know when to say it, how to say it. She didn't want to say it wrong. It was going to be the first time she told him, and she wanted the moment to be special.

Maybe it was partly because in her previous relationship, 'I love you' had been thrown around as easily as 'hello' and 'goodbye.' 'I love you,' on the phone; 'Love you,' at lockers before class.

Suddenly, she knew that Spike had woken up beside her. He hadn't moved or made a sound—hadn't even started inhaling and exhaling again—but she knew when she turned her head that he would be looking at her.

He was.

"Not get any sleep?"

"No. Just thinking," she said.

"What about?"

"You."

He raised an eyebrow. "All good, I hope."

She smiled. "More or less."

"And?"

Buffy laid her head on his chest. "I'll tell you later," she said softly.

Spike paused, his hand coming up to rest on her shoulder. "Alright, pet."

_I love you._

She didn't want it to sound like everyday words. She wanted it to be perfect. It was everything.

He was everything.

Buffy knew what they had wouldn't be easy. Things would always happen that they would have to work through. He saw things in a way that she couldn't comprehend sometimes. She reacted to things in a way he simply couldn't understand sometimes.

Spike was a vampire. He would always think like a vampire. And yet, the fact that he would do anything she asked, even if he didn't value her reasons, had been proven again and again.

It was enough.

-

-

* * *

The boy behind the counter was nervous.

Granted, he'd seen much worse. Demons were regular customers. But this guy…just creeped him out.

Hours ago, he had come in and politely asked where he could find certain volumes. Then he'd disappeared into the back. The boy caught glimpses of him sometimes, the man's back to him as he occasionally stood and picked up a different book from the shelf.

The woman he'd brought with him sat on the floor at the foot of his chair, mumbling nonsense and playing with her dog.

The boy thought he'd heard the woman call him Angelus.

Vampires weren't usually a problem, but he had heard that name before. Who hadn't?

He was abruptly shaken out of his thoughts as he heard the chair scraping across the old floor. They were both coming toward the counter.

Angelus—yeah, that had to be Angelus—nodded at him as he headed for the door, books under his arm.

"Um, sir? Are you going to pay for those?"

"I was going to let you live." He sniffed the air. "You're half demon. Not much good for eating." He paused, as if considering. "Though I could kill you, if you like."

He looked like the prospect was beginning to appeal to him.

The boy gulped. "I h-hope the books are helpful, sir."

"I think they're exactly what I need." He smiled, pushing the door open.

It closed after them with a firm thud, the bell jangling against the wood.

The boy felt a mixture of relief and dread. His manager was going to kill him when he noticed the missing books. Possibly literally.

But at least it would be quick.

* * *

Angelus threw the books in the backseat. He'd already gotten the text that would translate them completely.

They had been to several interesting places. For some things you just had to hit the cities. More things and beings passed through there than ever came to a suburb, Hellmouth though it had.

"Are we going home now?" Dru asked.

"Almost. I need one more thing." He smiled as he started the car. "A new toy."

"Oh, I've got lots of lovely sharp toys."

"I know you do. But this needs to be special."

Dru settled back against the seat, the streetlights flashing across her face as the car sped by them.

In Sunnydale, when he had announced that they were leaving, she had immediately latched on to the idea of a road trip. Dru had appeared ready to leave, wearing a simple black dress and a scarf securely tied over her hair—despite the fact that the car was not a convertible. She also had on big round sunglasses. Where she had gotten them or why she had sunglasses he didn't know.

But she had primly taken a seat in the front of the car and fastened her seatbelt. That had lasted all of ten minutes before she was sprawled in the backseat and humming to herself.

"Oh dear, I do believe we've forgotten Misty," she said presently.

He'd gotten her another dog along the way to keep her entertained and out of his hair. Well, he'd eaten a woman who was walking her dog. That had to count for something.

But he sure as hell wasn't driving back three miles to get the thing.

"You can have a new pet soon, Dru."

"A pretty bird!" she chirped.

Angelus grinned. "Something better."

If Dru had a captive Spike to play with, she might not protest so much about keeping the Slayer for a while. Of course, it might not play out that way. He'd like to take his time to savor things, but if he had to kill Spike quickly, then so be it.

Having the little blonde Slayer to toy with afterward would still be extremely satisfying. Even if there was no one to watch.


	80. Understandings

_A/N: Another huge thank you to everyone who has left reviews!

* * *

_

They met Willow at the Magic Box after dark, where Buffy was to take over watching Oz for the evening. Once again, Buffy ended up sparring with Spike for most of the night, using the various weapons that Giles had in the training room. After midnight, they took a long break, sitting down at the large table in the front room of the store. It was mostly dark except for some of the display lights and the light from the back room, but it was bright enough to see in.

Buffy ate the food she'd brought, not saying much as she looked around the shadowy store. It was true that she didn't come here as much as she used to. But she had been by a few times, and was starting to be civil to Giles again. She wasn't angry with him anymore, but she just couldn't slip right back in to the easy relationship they'd had before. And it's not like she really needed his help with training.

Buffy glanced across the table at Spike, who was slouched back in his chair and not doing much of anything. She took another sip from her water bottle before she broke the silence.

"We should talk."

"Alright." He shifted forward, putting his hands on the table.

"I've been thinking."

"About?" he prompted.

"Things you said the other night." She paused. "Do you think what I do—killing vampires—is wrong? You don't really care about other vampires, do you?"

"No."

"But they probably _do_ want to be here as much as anyone else does. You're right about that. But I slay them because I have to. Because they're killing people. Because I have to protect people."

"I know, pet."

"But do you think about vampires and humans differently? Well, obviously you do. But I mean—blood aside. Like if some vampire on the street had pissed you off and some human on the street had pissed you off, would you have let the vampire go because he's a vampire?"

"Probably not."

Buffy considered.

Spike tilted his head, studying her.

"It's not so much what you are," he continued. "But who you are. To me."

"But it's still killing to you?" She paused. "Like, you killed Darla."

"I did."

"I _dust_ vampires every night, but you _killed_ Darla."

Spike frowned. "Not sure I'm followin' you."

"You knew her. She wasn't some random vamp on the street."

"No." He was still frowning.

"But you say 'killed' even when you talk about random vamps, don't you? I say 'dust.'"

"Killing is killing." From the look on his face, he seemed to be catching on to her train of thought.

"It's killing even if vampires are already dead. But vampires aren't really dead, are you?" she asked. "You walk, you talk, even if you're not alive like we are. Undead, maybe. Dusting is still ending something. But I have to do it."

"I know." He paused, narrowing his eyes. "You know that, don't you? Don't let anything I said get to you, Buffy, or make you mess up. I was just—"

"I know. I do. I just realized that I'm drawing a line somewhere in my head. Even I say that you 'killed' Darla. I say that we're going to 'kill' Angelus. It's not any different, but I think of them as different." Buffy met his gaze. "And you, you would never be 'dusted.' You would always be 'killed.' I think…it's easier to think of the vampires every night as, I don't know, some piece of the whole. There's nothing about them except the fact that I'm going to dust—kill them."

"Call it whatever you want if it helps you do it." Spike looked slightly bothered.

"Don't worry, I'm not having some existential crisis. I won't have a problem doing what I have to do. But it's not as clear-cut as it seemed at first. I guess I'm just seeing a different perspective. I'm sure the vampires see it as killing."

"Just so long as you don't start thinkin' about vamps differently. Yeah, they might want to live as much as you do, but they'd kill you as soon as look at you. And I don't think anything about killin' vampires." Spike paused. "Though a lot of vamps _don't_ have much goin' on besides wantin' to feed," he admitted. "You're not far off about the ones you dust every night. Angelus and Darla are different from them."

"Because they're older? Smarter?"

"More or less. Though I've run into some ancient idiots, let me tell you." Then he looked her in the eye. "Nothing you do to stay alive is wrong."

"Yeah…" Buffy glanced down uncomfortably. "You would do whatever I wanted." It wasn't a question.

"I would." Then, as if reading her thoughts, he added: "But I'd still kill someone before I see you dead or worse."

"Right." Buffy twisted her hands around.

Spike had killed for her once. He would kill for her again, whether she wanted it or not. Or if she wanted it. His serious and chilling offer echoed in her mind. _Let me know when you do want someone killed._

She didn't know what to think about that. But that wasn't so much of a problem because no matter what Spike would do, it was dependent on something that she would never do.

But he would still kill someone if they threatened her.

"What if it didn't need to come to that?" she asked, looking up.

He snorted. "I thought you Americans were all about guns and self-defense and all that rot. What's the problem?"

"Pre-emptive self-defense isn't really…" Buffy sighed. "Kill or be killed is…fine, and maybe some other…situations, but you can't just jump right to killing. It's not a solution."

"Death tends to be a permanent solution, most of the time."

"But it shouldn't be the _first_ solution. I just need to—know that you won't do anything unless there's no other way."

He stared at her for a moment. "Fine."

"Fine."

Buffy had the suspicion that getting a vampire to agree not to use lethal force unless things were bad was as good as she was going to get. She would just have to make sure that things never got that bad. And if they did, well, maybe she'd rather be alive.

"Well, luv, what else?"

"Huh?"

"You've got that look on your face. Let's get it all out."

"Okay," Buffy said. "You once said that killing wasn't wrong to you."

"I did."

"But you know the difference between right and wrong?"

"Everything's wrong, depending—"

"Depending on who you ask," she finished. "I know. But…really not wrong to you at all?"

"It's how I'm supposed to eat." He raised a brow. "How can I think it's wrong?"

Buffy bit her lip. "Okay. But when I talk about right and wrong, you do know what I'm talking about? You do get the human definition of right and wrong?"

"Yeah, I get it. Most of the time, I just don't care."

"But you wouldn't—do anything wrong? Even if it's not killing?"

"I'll do whatever you tell me I can do and still keep you," he said evenly.

Buffy looked down at the table. She just couldn't say it was okay to bite criminals. Not now. Maybe not ever. But she could tell he was waiting for something.

"I can't," she whispered.

There was a long silence.

He finally sighed. "Alright, pet."

"Is it really too hard? Can you not do it?"

"I can do it."

She glanced away. "Okay."

There was another silence.

"So is that it?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Spike pushed his chair back and stood.

"Right, then. You up for another round?"

Buffy nodded, following him to the back.

* * *

Just before dawn, they went back into the main part of the store so Oz could change. Willow came in the front door at almost the same time.

"Hey," she said. "Any problems?"

"Nope."

"I've got breakfast."

"Thanks, but I ate not that long ago," Buffy said. "I brought dinner and breakfast."

"Okay. Well, the sun's up. I'm gonna go unlock him."

A minute later, Willow was back, Oz following her. Buffy introduced Spike. She thought Oz had seen Spike with her at the Bronze before, but she wasn't sure. It was a short exchange, after which she gathered up her things.

Willow watched as Buffy and Spike left through the back door. She quickly went and locked it behind them so that nothing else could come in from the alley streets.

She turned to Oz. "So, do you wanna eat here or at the dorms?"

Oz was staring at the door. "That guy. He's a vampire."

"What, how—I mean, no, he's not."

"You knew." It wasn't an accusation, just a statement.

"Yeah. For a little while."

Oz frowned. "Do you trust him?"

"I trust Buffy. So I guess I do. How did—I didn't think you could smell vampires."

"I can't, usually. But everything is sharp right now. And it's familiar somehow. Like I smelled it before but didn't recognize what it was."

"I guess he could have been here last time Buffy watched you. Only you didn't see him afterward," Willow said. "So, uh, are you mad? Buffy asked me not to tell anyone, and—"

"I'm not mad because you kept a secret. Buffy's your friend. If she asks you not to tell something, then you shouldn't feel bad for not betraying her confidence. Even to me."

"But?"

"I'm just kinda concerned this could be a dangerous secret," Oz said.

"Spike's completely in love with her. He's, well, it's really a long story."

"I've got time."

Willow nodded. "Since you know, I guess you should know everything."

-

-

* * *

When Buffy came back after class the next day, Spike was asleep. He often slept when she was gone during the day. He always went to bed with her at night, though she was never sure how much he actually slept. It had to be hard for vampires to sleep at night. She never noticed if he got up after she was asleep; he was always there when she woke up.

Now, however, he was sleeping, sprawled naked on the bed. The sheet had slipped from around his waist, and Buffy paused to look at him.

Spike never moved when he was asleep. His body seemed truly dead to the world, not shifting, not breathing. He could have his arm around her at night, but it would never budge once he was actually asleep. That said, Spike was an incredibly light sleeper. The noise of a door closing, her saying his name, even her twisting in her sleep would wake him up. It was probably some sort of predator always-ready awareness thing.

Spike also had a tendency to sleep naked. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It was slowly wearing off on her, as no matter what she went to bed in, it usually ended up on the floor before she was actually asleep.

However, he didn't tend to nap naked, even if he was doing so right now. That was probably the reason she was still standing in the doorway watching him, Buffy thought with a smile.

Though he wasn't completely naked, technically. There was the ever-present ankle bracelet, with its green stone and dirty gold. There was also a silver chain around his neck and a similar bracelet. Buffy had found the silver jewelry in his sock drawer one day, and asked why he didn't wear anything but the rings. Since then, he'd been wearing things.

It had been sort of funny, in a mundane way, that Spike had a sock drawer. Well, he had socks; of course he had a sock drawer. What he didn't have, she'd discovered, was an underwear drawer.

Buffy looked back at him, noticing the way the silver caught the light in the room. Actually, Spike couldn't have looked sexier if he were totally naked.

A really wicked idea came to her, and she quietly crossed the room. Buffy paused in front of the closet, hesitating. Maybe she should just let him sleep. On the other hand, she had no doubts about what he would do if he came home to find her sleeping in the nude.

Buffy slipped out of her clothing. She surveyed the contents of his side of the closet. There were jeans (in varying stages of black to faded), black T-shirts, and two button up shirts. One was red; the other was a deep maroon. After a moment, Buffy slipped on the maroon one, buttoning a single button.

Slowly, she approached the bed. Spike woke up the instant her knee made contact with the mattress and the balance shifted. Buffy brought her other knee up to his side, straddling him.

Spike's eyes darkened with interest when he saw what she was wearing. "And what are you up to?"

Buffy put her hands on his chest and leaned over him. "You never wear this. I thought I might." She smiled. "Are you…up?"

"Gettin' there."

Spike's fingers traced over the material at the front of the shirt, following the open 'V' made by the single fastened button. His hands slipped underneath, squeezing her breasts.

Buffy settled herself down against him. He was already hard beneath her.

She moved, shifting her hips and taking his length in her hand. Spike's eyes closed as she started to envelop him.

"Sorry I woke you up," she whispered playfully when he was fully inside.

Spike pushed the bottom of the shirt open so he could see where they joined. "Can think of worse ways to wake up."

They slowly moved together, Spike stretched beneath her, his fingers digging into her hips as she rode him. Buffy had her hands planted on his shoulders, and the ends of her hair kept brushing his face. Once, as she heated up, she moved to unbutton the shirt, but his husky 'leave it,' changed her mind.

Spike flipped them over sometime; she wasn't quite aware of him doing it until she found the mattress against her back and him moving on top of her. He desperately plunged in and out of her, building to a climax that was quickly followed by her own.

Spike sighed in contentment afterward, burying his face in her hair.

"You wanna go out tonight?" he breathed.

"That would be good. Though it would require me putting on my own clothes."

"That would be bad."

"Well, we don't have to move for a while."

"I could move again." Spike squeezed her butt.

Buffy giggled. "Just so long as we don't move out of bed?"

He nibbled on her ear. "Exactly."

Then only semi-hard inside her, he started to move again.


	81. Dreams

That afternoon, they'd had sex, sex, and more sex.

Right now, they were practically having sex on the dance floor.

The Bronze was dark and the music was loud. It was late, but the crowd was still large and wild. In the thick of it, Buffy was moving against Spike, her back to his front as his hands dug into her hips and pulled her closer. She was grinding her butt into him in time with the beat, wriggling against the hardness there.

His coat mostly hid what they were doing, but no one would have noticed. Half the people in the mob were lost in their own pursuits.

Buffy pressed back into Spike again, shimmying up and down. One of his hands crept under her halter-top. The other was groping her thigh and beginning to slip up her skirt. Buffy reached behind her, threading a hand between them and grabbing him through his jeans. Spike's body jerked, and Buffy smiled to herself.

And then time seemed to stop.

There was a flicker of a face in the crowd, a girl weaving through the dancers. Almost in slow motion, she paused and turned, meeting Buffy's gaze with a knowing smile.

Faith.

Buffy broke away from Spike without looking behind her. He might have said something, but the music was too loud.

She followed Faith, pushing past people in an effort to keep up with the other girl, who seemed to always be one too many steps away. Black leather and brown hair were all that she could see. Every now and then someone cut into her line of sight, but the back of Faith's head always reappeared.

But when Buffy reached the edge of the crowd, Faith simply wasn't there. And she suddenly had an eerie sense that she'd done this before.

In a wash of déjà vu, Buffy realized why the Bronze had felt familiar on nearly the first day she'd set foot in it. It had been the very first dream she'd had of Faith. Faith had danced in the loud darkness here and then killed someone outside.

The alley.

Buffy pushed open the side door and went out. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

Except Faith. She was just standing there.

"I'm not asleep," Buffy said. "I'm not asleep."

Behind her, the door slammed open, clanging against the bricks.

"Are you _trying_ to be a bloody tease, cause—" Spike broke off when he saw the look on her face. "What? What is it?"

Buffy stood silently, still staring at the apparition. It _was_ an apparition, right?

"Buffy? You just walked off," he continued, slightly irritated. "There wasn't a vamp or anything."

"Faith."

"Not followin' you."

Buffy turned to look at him. "Don't you see her?"

Spike was trying to adjust his pants. "No."

Faith wasn't doing anything. She didn't even have a look on her face.

"Maybe I am dreaming. Maybe this is a dream," Buffy said. "Ow! Hey!"

Spike had pinched her. "All awake here."

"She's standing right there. I swear she is."

"I believe—"

"_Don't_ tell me you believe I think I see her."

"I believe you see her," Spike said. "Maybe only you can see her. Some sort of Slayer thing."

Faith tilted her head. "It's going to start soon." Then she simply wasn't there.

Buffy stared at the spot. "Did you hear that?" she asked Spike.

"No."

She shook her head. "This has got to stop."

* * *

If Buffy could have arranged the schedule of her dreams, she would have. As it was, she knew Faith was going to show up. But this time, she wanted her to show up.

Faith didn't disappoint.

Buffy found herself standing in her bedroom at the house, despite having gone to sleep at Spike's. Faith was here, slouched in a corner chair.

Buffy crossed her arms. "As old as this is getting, me seeing you when I'm awake? Not funny."

"Had to do something splashy."

"Why?"

"Why not? Last joyride and all."

"What's going to start soon?" Buffy asked.

"_He's_ about to start. It's all coming down to the line, B."

"I don't need cryptic warnings from someone who already screwed up, thank you very much. Or who screwed him."

Faith jumped up. "Where do you get off being so high and mighty? Yeah, I did a vamp. So did you. And what do you know about anything?" she demanded.

"No one made you be evil. That was your decision."

"Sure," she scoffed. "Says the little rich girl. Had the perfect life, didn't you?"

Buffy's brows raised. "Excuse me? You think my life is perfect?"

Faith snorted. "Plenty of money. Everything handed to you. Loving mother—"

"Father who almost got me sold off accidentally?"

She shrugged. "Okay, you got me there."

"Besides, being the Slayer sort of sucks the perfect out of life."

"Oh, yeah." Faith raised a skeptical eyebrow. She smirked. "Right."

"Well, it's not my idea of perfect."

"You got fed Slaying with a silver spoon, just like everything else. Look at you—instant friends, hot Watcher—"

"Ew." Buffy shook her head and uncrossed her arms. "Besides, I had the same Watcher at first that you did."

"Yeah…" She paused, seeming to study Buffy.

Buffy glanced out the darkened window and then looked back. "What?" she finally asked.

"You also had your very own pet vampire. Ready to watch your back when he couldn't watch your front, ready to follow your every command."

"It wasn't exactly like that."

"Oh? What was it like, then? He taught you everything he knows. Gave you the ultimate advantage."

"_You_ said he was playing a game to kill me. Beware vamps, blah, blah, blah."

"Well, mine killed me!" Her voice cracked. "Why should you get the good one?!"

Buffy was stunned into silence for a moment. "Are—are you _jealous_?"

Faith turned her back to Buffy, looking out the window. "You've got a gorgeous guy who couldn't be more in love with you if he tried. Who wouldn't want that?" She laughed. "And hey, vamp. Not always a bad thing in our line of work."

"You think I've had things easy?" Buffy continued. "That's why you've been messing with me about Spike?"

"Hey," Faith snapped, whipping around. "I helped you out last time."

"Yeah, okay," Buffy admitted. Really, Faith had been mildly helpful several other times. She had only been openly antagonistic a time or two. The most notable being the night that Spike had said he loved her.

"Is that…what you wanted?" Buffy asked. "I mean with Angelus."

Faith laughed again. "I knew what that was. Just a fling with a _bad_ bad boy. I knew how it would end. Though I was kinda expecting to kill him."

Buffy was silent again. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I don't know."

"Eh, don't worry about it," she said, sounding defeated. "Not like it matters now."

"So is this one of those things where you can't rest until he's dead?"

"Nah." She suddenly looked around the room like she was worried about the time. Then Faith grabbed her hand. "C'mon, I wanna show you something."

Buffy moved back. "What? No." But she couldn't shake Faith off.

Faith stepped forward and through the wall of the bedroom, pulling Buffy behind her. The other side of the wall could be no place but the mansion.

Angelus was lounging in the corner.

Buffy momentarily panicked. _This is a dream—this is just a dream. I'm not really here. He's not really there._

Faith was next to her. Faith was also across the room, chained to a pillar. There was a man similarly tied who was facing her. He was wearing what was probably once a very nice white shirt, though now it had a number of slash marks in it. Angelus was leisurely polishing a sword.

This was a dream, a shadow of something that had happened. But Buffy still half-expected Angelus to address her.

Buffy looked back at the pillars. Faith looked tired and beaten up. The man didn't.

"Is that the Mayor?"

"Yeah," the Faith next to her said. She sighed, suddenly looking reflective. "Fuck, I messed up my life." She didn't sound regretful; she just said it.

Then she stepped closer to the man, looking at him almost fondly. Then she was gone, disappeared as if she hadn't been there at all.

Angelus looked up.

"Today's the day," he announced.

Darla had appeared in the doorway. "Did Dru have a vision?"

"Nope. I'm just feeling lucky." He stood, swinging the sword around in his hand, and he approached the Mayor. "And he smells different. I think his little magic trick has worn off." He smiled. "What to do you say, Faith? Ready to watch him go?"

Angelus ran the blade down the front of the man's shirt and then pulled back. "Everybody ready?" He paused for effect.

Buffy was frozen, unnoticed by any of the players in this little show. Then she saw tied-up Faith lifting her head and staring at her.

Faith turned her head to Buffy as Angelus pushed the sword forward, the curtain of her hair blocking the view of the dying man. "I watched the first time," she confided. "I felt I owed him that, you know? To see someone he cared about as he died. Yeah, he was evil, but he liked me for me. I was bad, but he didn't care. Hell, he needed that. But it was more than that. He was the only one who ever gave a shit. Like the dad I never had. Pathetic, huh?"

Buffy looked back as Angelus pulled the sword from the Mayor's lifeless body. He looked appreciatively at the blood-coated blade. Then he shoved it in again, leaving the sword sticking out of his ribs.

Angelus turned toward Faith. "Enjoy the view."

Faith looked back at Buffy. "Stake the bastard good for me, huh, B?" She gave a lifeless smile. "Hey, I'll let you go now."

Faith's head lowered again. Angelus smiled as he almost gently tilted her chin up. "One down," he said, forcing her to look at the Mayor. He ran his eyes over her. "One…a very long way to go."

Then he left with Darla. Faith's head dropped to look at the floor.

"Faith?" Buffy asked. "Faith?"

After a moment, Faith raised her head to look at the Mayor again. "Sorry, boss," she whispered.

Buffy stepped into her line of sight. "Faith. Faith!"

But there wasn't even a flicker across her face. Wherever Faith had gone, she couldn't see or hear her anymore. And this really was just a dream.

Faith's head suddenly snapped up, unseeing eyes filled with tears. "I'll fucking kill you for this!" she screamed. "Angelus! I'm gonna tear you apart piece by piece! You'll be dust, nothing but dust! I'll kill you!"

Even the threats sounded already defeated. Like she knew there was no way she could avenge the murder before her eyes. But she continued to scream, even as her voice grew weaker and her body sagged against the chains.

Buffy surprised herself when she woke up crying.

She was back in the bedroom, safe in the dark. Her sniffling woke up Spike.

"Luv? What's wrong?"

She took a shaky breath. "Just a dream."

He reached out, touching her shoulder. She stayed flat on her back, staring at the ceiling.

"Faith's gone," she said.

"How?"

"I don't know. She's gone, though."

"Well. That's good, yeah?" he asked. "For you and her."

"Yeah. But…it was just sad. I saw her all tied up…and how sad she was, and it was just…sad."

"Did you figure out anything?"

"Sort of." Buffy sighed. "She was really clear on one point."

"Which was?"

"Stake Angelus good."

* * *

-

-

Drusilla flitted into the mansion the second he cut the engine to the car. Angelus strolled in after her. He stopped in front of the first vampire he saw sprawling in the main room.

"You. Go get my stuff out of the car."

"Uh, yes sir." He edged away nervously, obviously shaken by Angelus' sudden appearance.

Another vampire approached him. One of the smarter minions, he remembered.

"So what have they been up to?" he asked.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, sir. She mostly patrols. They've, uh, gotten several of us."

"Mm," Angelus said, not terribly interested. "Well, I think it's time to get one of them."

"They don't really separate that much."

He shrugged. "Both of them, then."

"Do you want us to go after them?"

"No." He paused, considering. "I want them to come to me. It's time to get their attention."

"How should we—?"

"Don't worry about it." Angelus smiled. "I think it requires…a more personal touch."


	82. Stirrings

It was late, and it was Saturday.

"You were sayin'?"

Buffy couldn't remember what she had been saying. The things he was doing to her were very distracting.

"I said," she finally replied, "that I have to meet Willow tomorrow morning."

"So?" Spike was hovering over her in the bed.

"So maybe we shouldn't tonight."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't show up with another choker or scarf. Does it have to be tonight?"

"Mm." His hand slid down her stomach. "There are other places I could bite you, y'know."

Why did the way he said that send a shiver down her spine? And to other places that were…well, not her spine.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice coming out in a squeak.

"The neck is just the most direct way," he said. "There's also here—" he touched a wrist, his fingers tracing up her inner arm "—and here. Visible, though."

"Yeah…"

His hand continued moving, and it lingered on top of her breast.

Buffy stared up at him. He raised a suggestive eyebrow.

"Um, I'm thinking no. And, ouch."

"It's not bad, if you're in the moment." Spike grinned. His hand went lower again, trailing down her stomach and between her legs. "There's also a nice artery…" His fingers came to rest on her inner thigh. "…Right. About. Here."

"I'm not sure that's…"

But Spike was already moving down her body.

"I'll make it good for you," he breathed.

She realized what he meant.

He was grabbing her legs and slowly pulling her down the bed as he backed up to kneel on the floor.

"I…"

"You liked it before," he purred. "Where's your sense of adventure, luv?"

"I'm still thinking 'ouch.'"

"Only in a good way." Spike lowered his head. "I promise."

Buffy bit her lip. He was making this way too tempting. He pressed his lips between her legs, still meeting her gaze with that damn eyebrow raised.

Way too tempting. It might hurt a little, but the eroticism wasn't lost on her. Nope, not lost at all. It couldn't hurt that much to try it once, right?

Spike was still looking at her.

Buffy lay back on the bed and pushed her hips forward, pressing him to her, giving him permission. She could feel his breath through her panties, and he inhaled deeply before pressing his mouth full against her. His hands slid beneath her, cupping her bottom and then pulling away her panties as he moved back.

He came down slowly, his hands tracing over her outer thighs as he kissed his way down their insides, ever nearing his destination.

Buffy moaned when his tongue finally came into contact with her, as it brushed over her slowly several times before plunging in. She arched against him and she felt a finger slip in a moment later, even as he moved to suck on just the right spot. Buffy squeezed her thighs together involuntarily, holding him there.

Slowly she felt less of his mouth as he turned and began sucking on the inside of her left thigh. Something shifted.

Another finger joined the first, and his thumb was also quickly rubbing her. He kept it up, and she was almost too far gone to realize when he sank his teeth into her inner thigh. His free hand grasped the back of her leg, pulling her to him. He was drinking her blood while he got her off. Drinking her blood so close to _down there_.

Buffy moaned as she came, trying almost in vain not to thrash against him or rip her skin on his teeth. But Spike anticipated her, moving as she jerked, his mouth never releasing its hold on her, his fingers never ceasing their rhythm inside her.

Coming down from it, she realized she barely noticed the feel of the fangs in her leg. There was no pain, just another delicious sensation. Moments later, she was somewhat amazed that he was already done when his mouth moved to her center once again.

Without looking she knew that he was still in game face, and God, if that didn't make it all the better for some reason. Careful not to cut her, he once again plunged his tongue in. One of his hands was kneading her butt, the other was busy stroking her while his mouth was on her folds.

God, she could feel his teeth. Hard, sharp teeth grazing her soft, soft skin. Her head rolled from side to side as she came undone once again. Spike held her to him until she was finished.

Then she felt him lick the holes on her thigh once more before he moved up her body. He crouched over her, looking extremely satisfied, his fangs giving him an evil Cheshire cat grin. "I told you so."

She could only stare blankly at him as his features shifted, the smile never leaving his lips.

There was a question in his eyes, and Buffy nodded. She could see that he was already hard from what he had done to her. She knew she wouldn't come again, but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy the ride.

As soon as he could undress, he was inside her. Spike pulled her pajama shirt—her only remaining clothing—over her head as his body met hers. They rocked together, Buffy lost in the feel of him moving within her.

The feel of him pushing against her. The feel of him shuddering in pleasure when she squeezed him with everything she had.

In and out. In and out.

The thought came without warning: _There's something wrong with this._

It surprised her.

No, there was nothing wrong with what he was doing to her, nothing wrong with that at all. Something was bothering her about the blood.

No, nothing was wrong with trying out a new (and very enjoyable) way of biting. So what was it?

She didn't mind Spike drinking her blood. It was even sort of nice; it was a connection between them. And it could be intense. Sometimes he bit her during sex. Not every time they had sex—or her neck would always have a mark. And she had given him blood several times when she didn't have to.

And there it was.

It was the Saturday thing.

He wasn't working for her anymore. He wasn't here just because she was paying him. Spike was here because he wanted to be—because he wanted her and she wanted him. Their relationship had blurred so slowly, but it was definitely something entirely different than what it started out as. So why was she still paying him?

That wasn't to say that she wouldn't give him blood. But to have a specific day slated for something that had become so intimate, and intimate in more ways than one— It suddenly seemed as bad as saying that she owed him sex on a specific day.

Maybe things just needed to be more organic. Spike drinking her blood could happen when it happened, like sex. Also, it was weird for something from a business arrangement to carry into their life as an actual couple.

Why hadn't she noticed it before? Maybe because they hadn't actually been 'together' for very long. Maybe because this was the first time he had pressed.

She didn't want to stop the biting—she just needed it to be…different, somehow. And how to bring that up sometime?

But not wanting to be one of those girls who lie back during sex and think of other things, Buffy resolved to figure out her particular problem at a more opportune time.

* * *

-

-

His room was littered with paper. Some was crumpled into balls; most was just cast away. All were drawings. Some were merely scribbles, while others were detailed portraits. The subject was always the same.

Sometimes Angelus drew her as she'd looked when she first took him—hair coiffed and curled, her playing the part of a proper lady. Most times he drew her with straight, feathery hair that ended at her shoulders, a modern temptress.

It was pointless and obsessive. But it passed the time.

Tomorrow, it would begin.

Darla's last dress was still spread on the bed, unmoved from where he had placed it. It had been her favorite. Strapless and red, slinky and unadorned. The smooth material flared at the calves with a single large ruffle.

He remembered when they'd gotten it. Darla had dragged him to one of the very upscale designer stores in Los Angeles. She had insisted on going into the store like a person, sitting down and being served as the attendant brought out a single dress at a time for her perusal. He'd been bored out of his mind.

It had taken hours. She wouldn't even let him kill a clerk. She'd even insisted on _paying_ for the dress, albeit with stolen money.

He hadn't understood what the big deal was. Darla usually killed everyone when they went into a store. It was part of her shopping routine.

This, apparently, had been different. "_It's the experience, dear_," she'd said indulgently. Finally, he'd decided it was one of those female things that he just couldn't understand. The evening after she'd gotten the dress, however, she had been very happy. And when she was very happy, lots of people usually died.

So the day hadn't been a total waste.

The dress still smelled like her. It also smelled like ashes.

The latter smell was courtesy of Drusilla and the night that he'd come back to the mansion to find her dealing with Darla's demise in her own odd way.

And when Angelus finally listened to what she'd been screaming, he wondered if he should have done so sooner. But he hadn't wanted to hear her incessant and almost nonsensical chatter, especially when the majority of it seemed to be about the two people and the event he wanted distraction from.

But it had been exactly the thing he'd needed. Killing blondes to forget his loss and envision his revenge was one thing, but this was more than he'd imagined. Revenge would also come, but it in the space of an instant, payback had become a secondary goal.

There was now something he wanted more.

.

.

_The unmistakable orange flicker meant one thing: fire._

_Fire in a vampire's residence usually led to nothing good. But he wasn't getting a sense of intrusion or danger. Indeed, after a moment, Drusilla appeared from the shadows and began daintily tossing things in the fire, humming to herself all the while. However, the flames in the main room were large and nowhere near the fireplace they should be in._

_Angelus straightened up and fully stepped into the doorway. A sudden movement farther down the hall caught his eye, and he recognized it as one of the minions._

_"What the hell is going on?" he hissed._

_"She wanted a fire, sir."_

_"And you couldn't have stopped her?" he said irritably. It looked like some of his furniture had been sacrificed to the flames._

_"Stop __**her**__?" the vampire asked in disbelief._

_Angelus walked into the room. "Dru."_

_She smiled and clapped her hands, spinning around. "Oh! You're just in time for the party! You're so wicked I thought you'd miss it. Been away and left princess all alone."_

_"Does the party have to be now?"_

_She silently turned back to the fire. He knew Dru had been somewhat off since Darla, but he hadn't had time or inclination to deal with her._

_"Does there have to be fire?" he asked. Perhaps leaving Dru on her own for so many days after something like that hadn't been the best thing for her. Maybe he should have taken her out with him for some therapeutic carnage._

_Drusilla turned around with an armful of material and threw it into the flames. There was a momentary darkening before the cloth caught and brightened the blaze. She danced around in a circle._

_"The fire is the party! Lovely things go up in flames… I'm sending them to her!"_

_For the first time, Angelus took a good look at what was in the pile on the table. Darla's dresses._

_Drusilla circled again and scooped up the last armful. She tossed the articles in one by one, a shower of sparks as each was added. "Fire to fire and ash to ash. Just as grandmummy went. I did throw the gowns in the yard today," she confided, "but the sunshine didn't work on them._

_"I was disappointed, I confess," she continued. "It would have been lovely to have a tea party in the day." She held a scarlet dress over her head._

_Suddenly angry, Angelus tore it away from her. "This is her favorite!" he yelled._

_"She needs it!" Drusilla hissed, grabbing to take the dress from him._

_"Damn it, Dru, this isn't a fucking funeral pyre! She's not getting these in the afterlife!"_

_She lunged at him and he backhanded her, sending her spinning to the floor. He kicked at the edge of the fire in frustration, hitting what was once a wooden chair and sending it skittering—still half burning—across the flat stones._

_Drusilla let out a low, mournful wail. It gradually rose in pitch and volume. This was why he hadn't been around. He didn't have the patience for her right now._

_She started rambling. Loudly._

_"I don't have time for this," Angelus growled. "Do you want me to tie you up?"_

_She jumped up like a snake, pointing a finger in his face and advancing on him. "No time, no time!" she screeched. "Never listening, never here! My Spike always had time!"_

_"I do __**not**__ want to hear about Spike!"_

_"The stars, they used to listen, but now it's all a jumble. Grandmother went into the sun and Daddy won't play anymore! And you've ruined her farewell party!"_

_"Shut up!"_

_"My boy took her to the sunshine, but he never left it. He walks wickedly and it slithers around him—the fire in the yard!" She was screaming now. "She was the fire, but didn't have the fire. The green fire—"_

_"__**Shut up**__!" he roared, grabbing her arms and holding her in front of him._

_Drusilla's eyes were wild. "It burns, but he never falls to ashes. He walks without the flames, dances in the sunshine!"_

_He almost hit her again._

_"—seized the green fire and now the hateful yellow doesn't touch him."_

_But something had suddenly washed over Angelus like a cool wave. The anger vanished, replaced by anticipation and calculation. He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands over her arms._

_"What about Spike, now?" he asked encouragingly._

_"Quite clever of him, really," she said to herself, swaying from side to side._

_"What was clever, Dru?"_

_"The pixies said there were two sunshines. She's the first I saw. The secret one was hidden, but the fire in the yard turned it clear like raindrops."_

_She couldn't mean what he thought she did. It was a legend, nothing more._

_Drusilla shook her head, as if disagreeing with his thoughts. "Wrapped around him," she whispered. "Like a scarab on a string."_


	83. Targets

Two nights later, they found a dead girl with a railroad spike through her chest.

She had been strategically left, half hidden in the bushes at the park.

Besides the general awfulness, Buffy was shaken on a different level. This was actually the first dead person she had come across. She'd known it was going to happen sooner or later, and she had already realized that there were people she couldn't save, people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. But seeing it was different.

And this was also something else. This wasn't some stray victim; this was purposeful. She was lying with her arms by her sides and her legs straight in front of her. She had been left drained and mutilated for them to see. There were jagged tears on her neck and the thing stuck through her heart. In her hand, she held a cross, obviously placed there after her death.

"It was him," she said.

"Yeah," Spike said.

Buffy stood in the lamp lit darkness in silence. She looked at the spike. Finally, she said:

"Is that supposed to make me think you did it?"

"It's supposed to mess with you."

"Well, it's working." Buffy looked back at the girl. She was probably in high school. "He killed her because of me," she said.

Spike turned to her, pulling her arm to make her look at him. "Look here. He killed her because he kills people. He killed her like that because—"

"He wants to get my attention."

"I'd say he wants to get our attention, or he wouldn't have done it like that."

Buffy looked at him.

"I took a page from his book when I did Darla," Spike said. "He's returning the favor."

"You're so not helping," she said. Buffy shifted. She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. "Look, can you—would you just watch her? I'm going to call the police. I don't want anything to…drag her off."

Spike shrugged and nodded, and Buffy went to a nearby payphone and pretended to be a ditzy and freaked out coed who had just discovered a body in the park. They assured her they would send someone right over. The woman sounded like this sort of thing happened a lot, Buffy thought.

She and Spike watched from a distance until the authorities arrived.

Then they left, walking in the other direction.

"Are you alright?" he asked after a moment.

"How can you even ask me that?"

Spike didn't seem particularly fazed by it all. But then, he wouldn't be, would he? Death and dead people didn't bother him. Innocent girls murdered in the park didn't really bother him, except that it bothered her.

"Are you going to be alright?"

"Later," she said. "I'll be better later."

Neither one spoke as they finished patrol.

* * *

Buffy called Giles the next morning and told him about the girl. She described how she'd been laid out and what had been done to her.

"You're sure it wasn't some other vampire's victim?" he asked.

"It was definitely Angelus. Who else would want to get my attention like that?"

"You said there was a spike?"

Yeah, she probably shouldn't have mentioned that part. But she had just blurted it out. Finding bodies messed with a person.

"Uh-huh."

But Giles didn't say anything else beyond the usual about being careful and keeping an eye out.

That night, they had barely started patrol before they found a girl in the back of the cemetery.

She was tied to the trunk of a large tree with a rope biting into the flesh of her neck. Her arms were tied behind her around the tree. There was a stake through her heart, a cross necklace dangling just above it.

Spike noticed the differences on this one. She hadn't been drained, or even been drunk from. The rope had been tied to keep her in place while she'd been alive; now her dead weight sagged from it, leaning against the trunk. From the amount of blood staining her clothing, the stake was what killed her, not strangulation.

He wasn't going to mention that bit to Buffy. What he did think Buffy needed to know was the pattern. He was about to say it, but she spoke first, breaking the silence.

"He's killing me. She's blonde and small. So was the other one. He's killing me."

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"Get her down."

"No."

"We can't just leave her like this! We have to get her down!"

Spike caught her arms in his as she stepped forward. "As spectacularly ineffective as I think the Sunnyhell P.D. are, the last thing we need is you tampering with a crime scene." His voice softened. "You can't help her, pet."

Buffy swallowed. "Fine," she whispered. "But I'm still calling the police."

"Alright."

Buffy called from a payphone again, reporting what she'd found. The emergency operator took down the location, and then asked, "Are you the girl who reported the incident last night?"

For a moment Buffy wondered if Spike was right, and if even calling had been a bad idea. But she answered anyway, feeling that she shouldn't lie to the police. "Yes," she said quietly, wondering if they were going to think she had something to do with it.

But the woman on the other end of the phone just sighed. "Miss, perhaps you shouldn't go out at night anymore. You've seen the problems we've been having, and we're concerned for all our citizens' safety."

Buffy quickly assured the woman that she would stay indoors after dark from now on.

They watched from the other end of the cemetery until the police cars pulled up. Then she and Spike disappeared into the night.

"This ends now," Buffy said.

* * *

Going by her mother's house for a few hours should have been a welcome distraction. But as soon as she and Spike walked in the door, Joyce said:

"Oh, Buffy. There was just a phone call for you, someone asking if you got his invitations."

Buffy felt a chill. "Who?"

"He didn't say. I asked him if he wanted to leave a number where you could call him back, but he said he could always drop the next one by the house. Is someone from one of your classes having a party?"

Buffy started in a rush. "If someone comes to the house after dark, don't open the door. In fact, don't open the door at all unless you know who it is. In fact, don't even go outside after dark. Be home by sunset!"

"Buffy, _what_ is going on?"

"There's a vampire. A really bad vampire. And he's sort of after us."

Her mother started to say something.

"_But_ we're going to get rid of him," Buffy quickly continued. "Just be really careful until then."

"Honey, this sounds dangerous."

"Slayer, Mom. And I've got Spike, remember? It's what we do."

Joyce sighed. "I still don't like this, Buffy."

"This what?"

"This…you having to do dangerous things."

"I know. I'm not totally crazy about it. But I have to. If I don't, he's going to keep killing people, and he's going to keep coming. And I really need to call Giles right now and tell him."

Her mother didn't look convinced.

"Everything will be fine," Buffy forced out, trying to sound positive. Then she changed the subject. "Hey, didn't you want to ask Spike some things about merry old England?"

Spike looked surprised at suddenly being the topic of conversation.

"I did have a few questions," Joyce said. "If you don't mind?"

He shifted. "Guess not."

"I could make you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?"

"Yeah, alright."

Joyce went into the kitchen, and Spike lingered for a moment. He suddenly looked almost sulky.

"Oh, it won't hurt you," Buffy said.

"Guess not."

"She would have brought it up on her own sometime anyway. But it's a good distraction right now." Buffy lowered her voice. "We've got to take care of Angelus soon. Because as wrong as everything else is, the last thing I need is him leaving a dead body on my mother's front porch."

Spike nodded. Then he turned and went into the kitchen.

Buffy dialed Giles's number.

"We found another one," she said when he answered.

"Ah."

"In the cemetery."

"With a railroad spike?" Giles asked.

"No, it was a stake this time."

"That is—slightly different."

"They look like me. He's leaving them for me to find."

"Perhaps." Giles paused. "But I have reason to believe William the Bloody may be in town."

Buffy felt a strange sense of foreboding.

"Um. Why?" _Cause he is. Right now he's in the kitchen, probably having coffee with my mother._

"The railroad spike was his signature for a period of time."

She knew she shouldn't have mentioned the spike. "Yeah, but the girl tonight had a stake."

"He does have a history with Slayers. It bears consideration that you may have another opponent, working with or independently of Angelus."

"Yeah. Um. I'll consider it. We should talk. I'll come by tomorrow?"

Giles paused again. "Buffy, is something wrong?"

"What isn't wrong? Look, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Very well. We can discuss it then."

Buffy said goodbye and hung up the phone. She took a deep breath.

Then she went into the kitchen. "I've got to tell him," she blurted, interrupting. "We've got to tell him tomorrow."

"Buffy? Tell who what?" Joyce asked.

Spike just looked at her and nodded in acknowledgement. She wondered if he'd heard her conversation.

"Buffy?"

"Giles," she said to Joyce. "Never mind." Buffy sighed. "I'm going to go take a bath." Then she smiled. "But you two should definitely finish your talk."

* * *

Late afternoon the next day, Buffy and Spike were walking to Giles's.

"I've just…gotta say it," she said. "Just tell him. Maybe he won't totally flip out."

"Seems pretty level headed."

"On the other hand, he thinks you're the one killing girls and leaving them around town. And why should he believe me anyway? I've been lying since I got here."

"There's also that."

"Not helping." Buffy slowed down her pace as they approached Giles's street. "Maybe we could go kill Angelus and then tell him. Cause that would look really good."

"Tryin' to make me look good?"

"When he didn't know who you were, Giles liked you. At first. Well, he didn't dislike you." She paused. "Actually, he was concerned that I was dating a dangerous man."

"You are."

Buffy glared. "Well, I'm sure he doesn't like you now, after that stunt you pulled. So now, he doesn't like you that he knows, or vampire you that he's read about."

They were in the courtyard now. Buffy sighed as she knocked on the door and opened it a crack. "Giles?"

"Do come in," she heard him call.

Buffy swung open the door and stepped inside. And she sort of froze for a moment.

Giles wasn't alone. Everyone was here. Bad, bad, bad.

So much for her planned approach. But maybe Willow could help somehow. Maybe there was still a way to do this smoothly and diplomatically without causing a major scene.

Unfortunately, Anya spoke first.

"Why is there a vampire here?"


	84. Contentions

"Why is there a vampire here?"

There was an odd silence.

Buffy wasn't sure what her face looked like. Was it surprised or guilty?

Giles looked perplexed. Willow looked worried.

Xander looked indulgent. "Ahn, what are you talking about?"

"Him, obviously," she said, pointing at Spike. "He's a vampire. He _looks_ like a vampire."

Xander hopped off the back of the couch. "Ahn, honey, remember how we talked about snap judgments? Like the man at the store who you said was a disturbing foreigner?"

"I may be recently human, but I'm also recently American. And he was a disturbing foreigner; he was foreign and disturbing me," she said matter-of-factly. She pointed again. "And _he's_ a vampire. You don't get to be a thousand without being able to spot vampires."

Buffy twitched. There was that silence again.

"Hey, Buff, feel free to jump in with the denial any minute now."

"I— It's—"

"Good Lord. It's true?"

"You mean he _is_ a vampire?" Xander's voice came out in a yelp. "Anya, run!"

Anya stayed where she was, wary, but clearly unimpressed.

"Buffy," Giles said, "Do please explain."

"He's—he's been helping me," she said. "I do know how bad this looks. And this is not the way I was going to—I had this speech all in my head, and a nice planned talk—and—and—"

Willow watched as Buffy rambled. In all the shock and confusion, no one had noticed that she wasn't shocked. And Oz never looked shocked, even when he was.

"We should let you talk," Willow jumped in.

Giles arched a brow at her. She wondered if he suspected that she'd already known. However, he said, "That is an excellent idea, Willow. Everyone outside for a moment."

Buffy thought Giles was rather eager to get them alone. Probably afraid Spike would start snacking on someone. But she shrugged, watching as Willow herded Xander out, Oz and Anya following behind them. It would be easier without everyone here at once, at least.

Xander said something.

"I'll tell you in a minute," Willow hissed.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" he asked Anya.

"I saw him at the Bronze once, but I see lots of vampires. Hello, this is the Hellmouth. But I never knew he was with Buffy. You know we haven't been out with them as much since we've been staying home at night having—"

The door shut behind them.

Buffy turned back to Giles, who was standing by the edge of the couch, near the far wall.

He'd pulled a crossbow out from somewhere.

"You really don't need that," she said.

"I'm not quite sure what I need right now."

"Will you just give me a chance to explain?"

"Please do. Explain why a Slayer is associating with a vampire."

"Should I wait outside, too?" Spike spoke up for the first time. He leaned against the kitchen archway.

"Absolutely not," Giles said.

"Doesn't look like you need me for this," he continued. "I could hang out with the witch."

"Shut up, Spike," Buffy hissed. Really, while she was surprised that this was the first time he'd said anything, he could go back to being silent for all the good it was doing. "Giles—"

Giles looked like he was having some sort of fit.

"Spike? _Spike_?" he spat. "Your 'Will' is William the Bloody? Not only is he a vampire, he's one of the most notorious vampires in recorded history?"

"Yes?" Buffy said quietly.

"How can you stand there with him?"

She stepped forward. "For one, he saved my life. Remember?"

"Good Lord, Buffy, everything else besides—he's been murdering girls. Those bodies you found in the park?"

"That was Angelus. He did it because of Spike. Because of me."

"I don't believe you."

Buffy crossed her arms. "Well, I was with Spike all night, so it couldn't have been him."

Giles leveled the crossbow squarely at Spike. "I should just finish this now."

Gem or not, Buffy didn't think Spike was just going to stand there and let himself be shot. She needed to end this. Before Giles could do anything, she jumped forward and wrenched the crossbow from his hand.

Buffy disabled it and threw it in the direction of the table. It landed with a clunk on the floor.

"You're going to listen to me," she said.

Giles lowered his arms to his sides, fists clenched. He glared daggers at Spike, who was sinking onto the end of the couch. It seemed to irritate Giles even more that Spike was clearly not worried about anything. He looked at her again. "I really don't know what to say, Buffy. There have been few times in my life when I've actually been rendered speechless, when not only could I not find the correct words, but the correct words didn't even exist. And I don't know what you could possibly say to change this. Furthermore, I don't know why I should believe a word you say."

"Well, I'm going to say it anyway. Are you going to sit?"

"I rather doubt it."

"Fine."

Spike slumped coolly on the couch, Buffy stood near the other end, and Giles remained in place by the bookshelf.

"Like I said," she started, "I know how bad this looks. Especially after what happened with Faith. Because of what happened with Faith. Because of who Spike is. I know this was like an enormous secret. I know how bad this looks—and I'm repeating myself now.

"Spike is helping me. He's been sparring with me, patrolling with me. And he hasn't been killing. He hasn't," Buffy repeated firmly, as she saw Giles about to open his mouth. "It was part of our agreement when I came."

"You've been deceptive since you arrived, then."

"_Only_ about this. I'm not a bad Slayer. I don't think I'm a bad person. But you didn't know me, didn't know anything about me. What would have happened if I'd just come out and said it when I got here? Yeah, that would have gone over _so_ well. 'Hi, I'm Buffy. I'm your new Slayer. And this is my vampire.'" She shot Giles a look.

"Not your vampire," Spike mumbled. "Unless you're my Slayer."

"Your what, third Slayer?" Giles snapped.

"Hey, now."

"Like you never considered it."

Spike sat up. "You are one step away—"

"Shut up, both of you!" Buffy commanded, spreading her arms. "You, stay there," she said, pushing Spike back. "Giles, sit. We're going to have a nice conversation like friendly people." She glared at him with a purposely forced smile.

Giles stared at her a moment before he grudgingly sank into the corner chair. Buffy sat down on the other end of the couch.

Giles cleared his throat. "So I'm to understand and believe that the Slayer somehow just convinced William the Bloody that it would be a lark to work with her against his own relations?"

"What?" Spike asked. "Not in your records that we didn't get along? And I already killed Darla."

"Spike saved my life," Buffy said. "Carried me back here bleeding after Angelus attacked me. Do you remember that?"

"You're actually involved with him," Giles echoed, like his brain was still processing it all. He honestly looked like he'd been given pieces to separate puzzles and was desperately trying to put them together. "And you have been."

"Since before I met you. Since before I came to Sunnydale, even. I knew Spike when I wasn't the Slayer."

Giles looked amazed. "And he let you live?"

"There were…circumstances." She wasn't sure what to bring up when.

"Her old man paid me a lot of money to help out with a problem he was having," Spike said. "It was business."

"You're in business now?" Giles asked cynically.

"I'm an entrepreneur."

"Working for humans."

"For whoever," Spike said. "Happen to be human—sure, why not? Money's the same."

"I refuse to believe a vampire is running a legitimate business."

Spike smiled. "Well, I wouldn't call it legitimate."

Giles paused, as if he couldn't believe he was having this conversation. "And why shouldn't you just take the money and kill them anyway?"

"Lots of other people on the planet." He shrugged. "Don't bite the hand that pays you. Also, it's fun."

"You're a mercenary."

Spike looked at Buffy. "Now that has nice ring to it."

"He's not a mercenary," Buffy quickly said, though she had a feeling that mercenary was as good a word as any. But 'mercenary' brought up images of some guy with a machine gun doing reconnaissance in the jungle.

Giles took off his glasses. "Do you know what a mercenary is, Buffy?"

Buffy paused, unsure of where Giles was going with this, or if it was some sort of trick question. "Someone who works for money?" she ventured.

"More precisely, someone whose loyalties can be bought."

So that's where it was going.

"That's not what this is about," she said.

"You said you had an agreement. Insane as that is, that's what you said."

"We did. Do. Both," she finally said. "We were involved before I was the Slayer. Then we weren't when I was called. I realized he was killing, and he hated the fact that I was the Slayer. But it turns out that the Slaying gig isn't quite as easy as Wesley made it out to be. Sorry, but I didn't want to die in a year. Which seemed sort of likely, given everything that a Slayer does, not to mention the fact that there were these horrible vamps overrunning the town here. So I paid Spike. Because I knew he would do it and because I wanted to live. I paid him to watch my back and help me fight.

"I didn't tell you because like I already said, Faith. And you didn't know me. Why would you accept my word on something? Also, it wasn't going to be forever. Spike was going to leave, so why make waves with something that wasn't going to matter long term? But…it kind of turned long term. And you know what? After Spike and I got things worked out, I was going to tell you. But then you did that Watchers' ritual to me, which didn't really put me in a confiding sort of mood. And so here we are."

Giles tapped his other hand against the arm of his chair. "And you still have an agreement? You're still paying him to help you?"

"Not…exactly. Like I said, we're together. Things changed. Spike…" Buffy glanced at Spike out of the corner of her eye. She wasn't sure how much she should say, or what he wanted her to say. Also, she didn't like talking about him like he wasn't in the room. But she continued. "…he cares for me. That's why he's still here. And I care for him. And that's not going to go away."

Giles was silent. He didn't look pleased by any means, but he looked slightly less upset. Or maybe he just didn't look shocked anymore.

Buffy went on. "He taught me to fight, Giles. That's why I'm good. He's been there for me. I wouldn't have gotten this far without him. Yeah, he's a vampire. And believe me, that caused plenty of problems. Part of me paying him to help me was paying him not to kill—"

"And you can live with that?" Giles interrupted.

"No, I couldn't," she said. "Which is why I thought it was going to end—until he said he would stop. That he would stop for _me_. And Spike hasn't done anything since he got here; you have to believe me on that. First because of our deal, and now for me. And I know how crazy this all sounds, how there's no way this should work—a vampire and a Slayer. But we're…more than that. When I met him, I didn't even know he was a vampire, and I wasn't the Slayer."

Giles draped his arm over the arm of the chair, glasses dangling from his hand. He leaned back. "And how did you meet, exactly?"

"Someone was trying to kidnap me. Spike was hired to stop that. Actually, Wesley knows all about it. And about Spike's, uh, business. It's really sort of coincidental that we met, and he was sort of the…instigator. You know, if you want to talk to him."

Giles frowned. "Wesley knew?"

"Not so much that Spike came here," Buffy said. "But other stuff, yeah. I told you he was doing quite a bit of editing about what he wanted to share."

"And he knew of Spike's…business?"

"He sort of dealt with him."

"Then I have no desire to speak to Wesley at present, since it appears that he's gone quite mad." Giles rubbed his temple. "By all rights, I should report this to the Council." He paused. "Do you know what they tried to do to Faith, Buffy, for taking up with a vampire?"

"Angelus was evil. Spike's not doing anything."

"I'm sure they wouldn't make the distinction," he said.

"Wesley said their team was gone."

He looked up. "Wesley is out of the loop, as it were. That was almost a year ago."

"What are you going to do?"

Giles sighed. "I really haven't the faintest idea."

"Giles, please. You know me now. Besides this—and I'm very much with the realizing of how huge this is—besides this, what have I done to make you question my judgment?"

"Yes, well, 'this' is really quite a large thing," he retorted.

"I patrol. I fight. I slay. I'm not a bad Slayer."

Giles looked at Spike, who was watching the whole thing play out, once again expressionless. Then Giles looked at her straight on.

"You trust him." It wasn't a question. It was resigned, displeased. _You trust him_.

"Absolutely," Buffy said.

He sighed again. "I can't deny what I've witnessed. I can't deny that he brought you here when you were injured, that he displayed a grave concern for you. I also can't deny that he was openly threatening the second time I saw him, though in light of recent revelations, perhaps it's notable that that's all he was. But I also can't deny what I've read and what I know."

"It's in the past."

"Is it?"

"Yes," she said firmly.

Just then, the front door cracked open, and Willow stuck her head in. "So, is it, uh, safe to come in?" She said 'safe' like she'd known it was safe all along.

Giles stood. "It appears."

Buffy turned to Spike while Giles was distracted with the others filing back in. "Thank you," she whispered, "for being quiet. Mostly quiet."

Spike shrugged. "Not like he's gonna believe what I say anyway."

Willow and Oz moved to share the chair that Giles had been sitting in. Willow grinned encouragingly in their direction.

Oz looked at Spike and gave a small wave. "Werewolf."

Spike nodded. "Vampire."

Anya, who hadn't really seemed that bothered by the whole thing, walked over. "I used to be evil, too," she informed Spike. "I was a vengeance demon."

"Ah."

Xander pulled Anya back a bit. He regarded Spike. "Willow said you saved her life."

"Kept somethin' from eating her, I guess," Spike said, clearly a bit bewildered that he'd been described as saving someone.

Xander made a non-committal noise, but continued to scowl.

Buffy looked at Giles. "So?"

"I hardly think we're done discussing this."

"Well, I've got more bad news, then," she told him. "I actually don't have time for this right now. In fact, I considered not telling you until tomorrow anyway, but I thought the whole railroad spike thing sort of needed addressing. And even with that, I was wavering. But it's out now. Not like I would have liked, but it is. You can talk, lecture, whatever all you want about Spike tomorrow. We can sit down and have an intervention for all I care. But tonight—" she took a breath "—we're going to kill Angelus."

Her declaration was met with silence. Then there were several voices talking at once. Giles's was the loudest.

"You most certainly are not—"

"What?" she interrupted. "Going to do my job?"

Giles pointed at Spike. "Going to face Angelus with just him."

"You think Spike is going to betray me?"

"I don't know what to think!" he snapped.

"Well, I don't have time to think about this anymore. He's leaving me bodies in the park. What's next?"

"If Angelus is truly trying to get your attention, you're walking into a trap."

She stood. "A trap it's too late to avoid, Giles. I know he's waiting. But I don't have a choice. He's leaving me 'invitations.' And it was always going to come to something like this. I have to go in. He's not going to come out. Sure, there was the chance I would fight him while patrolling and it would go down. But all Angelus has to do to win is not lose. I can't win as long as he's in Sunnydale. I wasn't ready to confront him before, but I am now. And it's time to. Spike and I talked about it last night. I can't let things get any worse."

"Then I'm coming with you," Giles said.

"And so are we," Willow said.

"What?" Buffy asked. "No, it's too dangerous."

"We've been dealing with Angelus since before you got here," she replied. "If he's going down, we want to help. And hey, Sunnydale, it's not like we don't have danger."

"As much as I hate to say it, Willow's right," Xander said. "We all patrolled after Faith disappeared. We're in it now."

"I'm not asking anyone to come," Buffy said. "No one has to. It's supposed to be my fight. Slayer stuff."

"Then think of us as moral support," Xander said. "With weapons."

Buffy looked at Giles. "Don't think this would be a convenient way to take care of a problem. I'm serious, Giles. I can't worry about watching our backs, too. We're only going there to kill vampires that aren't in this room."

"Whether or not he goes," Giles said, gesturing to Spike. "I'm coming with you."

"We all are," Willow agreed.

"I'm not," Anya said. "I have no desire to go anywhere near Angelus. Once was enough. I'm staying here."

"The rest of us," Willow said.

Buffy glanced down at Spike. He shrugged.

"Okay." Buffy exhaled. "But Spike and I are the only ones going anywhere near Angelus or Drusilla. Everyone else is strictly background. Keep any other vampires from interfering. We're doing it in a few hours. If you're all coming, we need to figure out a plan."

"At nightfall?" Giles asked, shock on his face. "I thought by 'tonight' you were speaking in general. We should attack at sunrise."

"No," Spike said. "Go during the day, and you've got all the minions inside as well. But they'll be leavin' first thing after sunset to hunt. Angelus wouldn't go out till nine or ten. We go in between. That's our striking time."

"Yes, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Giles said.

"Guess I would."

Giles turned to her. "Buffy, you won't have any line of retreat if you attack at night."

"We're not retreating," she stated. Buffy looked around the room. "This is it."

* * *

-

-

They had spent the remaining time planning and preparing. Willow had hacked into something and gotten the blueprints of the mansion. Buffy and Giles decided where everyone needed to be.

An hour after everyone left Giles's, they met nearly two blocks away from the mansion, on the side yard of an abandoned and ramshackle two-story house. The sun had only been down long enough for the sky to be fully dark. Buffy and Spike were already standing at the meeting place when Giles pulled up in his car with everyone else inside. After a quick weapons check and strategy review, they all started walking

The plan was simple enough. Willow and Oz were taking the perimeter, catching any vampires who came out or any who came back. Both were armed with stakes; Willow had an additional crossbow, and Oz had actually shown up with hairspray and a lighter.

They both stopped at the agreed point as the rest of the group went closer.

Xander was covering the mansion's main exit. Giles was going in the back with a crossbow, and intended to begin securing the rest of the interior, dusting any vampires he found before they could assist in the fight or leave. He hadn't immediately agreed to this part, but Buffy had been adamant that only she and Spike were facing Angelus. She didn't really think there was a large chance of Giles trying anything, but more importantly, she couldn't be worrying about anyone else while fighting. They couldn't afford any distractions.

Buffy and Spike entered the house by themselves. Not a word had been spoken by anyone since they had left Giles's car.

The entryway was dark, but a set of double doors was thrown open in obvious invitation. Light was coming from the large room beyond.

Spike stood by Buffy's side in the silence. He could hear her heart beating. Any other vampires could, too. It was as good as a beacon saying that they were here.

Buffy was calm and focused, closed down to everything but the matter at hand. If she was nervous, she'd shut it away. She was nothing but in control. That was good.

Spike tightened his grip on the axe he held. He didn't feel the way he remembered feeling before a good fight. He wasn't standing in eager anticipation, wasn't excited at the prospect of unpredictable violence. He just wanted it finished. He wanted to kill and be done with it. There was no time here for gleeful abandon or the thrill of barely missed blows.

He wasn't the only one at risk. Losing the dance had consequences worse than a death in battle.

Spike looked at Buffy. She raised her sword and nodded.

They cautiously entered the room.

Angelus was lounging by the unlit fireplace. Electric lights blazed overhead. The furniture had been pushed to the walls. Spike caught sight of Drusilla in the corner. She looked giddy.

Angelus gestured welcomingly. "Now now, don't be shy. Come on in. I invited you, after all."

The plan had been simple. Buffy was to take Angelus. Spike was to keep Dru out of the way however he had to.

Angelus smiled and picked up something off the floor, twirling it around as he walked forward. "I'm glad you could make it," he said casually. "You have something I want."

He was holding a scythe.

Angelus suddenly lunged, and the entire plan changed.

Buffy might as well have been invisible. They both jumped to the side, and when Angelus turned, he went for Spike. He slashed low to the ground.

"Cut out the sunshine, cut out the sunshine!" Drusilla was screaming. "_Cut out his sunshine!!_"

Spike leapt back again; Angelus had a feral grin as he advanced.

"Dru says you've got something hidden away." Angelus took another swipe at Spike's left foot.

Spike jumped to avoid it. He suddenly realized what the scythe was for.


	85. Battles

Angelus gestured downward as Spike jumped away. "That thing you've got isn't even supposed to exist. Everything written about it was very clear that it doesn't actually exist."

"Seems you didn't do enough homework, then. And would you believe it was buried right here, too?"

Angelus advanced and slashed in a wide arc, causing Spike to move back. "I bet if I cut fast enough—well, I'm guessing it won't help you if it's no longer attached."

Swinging the scythe, he leapt forward once again.

.

.  
Buffy watched in horror. Angelus knew about the gem. Angelus was trying to cut it off. He was focused on Spike and nothing else.

Her mind snapped back quickly. That also meant that he wasn't focused on her.

Spike was retreating for the moment. And Angelus had his back to her.

Buffy began to creep forward. Her stake was in her belt, but she wouldn't even have to get that close. Three feet away and she could cut off his head.

But she wasn't the only one following another.

As she progressed, Buffy felt a tingle on the back of her neck. She sidestepped just in time to avoid a lunge from Drusilla, who had slunk around the edge of the room unnoticed. She was brandishing a fire poker.

Buffy turned, forced to focus on the immediate problem.

.

.  
Spike saw Dru nearly the same time Buffy noticed her. Buffy twirled around to face her, blonde hair and yellow top making her a sharp contrast to everything else.

Angelus quickly glanced over his shoulder. He grinned at the sight. "Let the girls have their fun. If it works out, I'll have fun with both of them later. You can watch. 'A blonde for a blonde,' wasn't it?"

Spike took the opportunity and sliced at Angelus with his axe. The other vampire deflected the blow and stepped out of range. Out of range for Spike, at least. Angelus still had the scythe.

"But I'll kill you both quickly if I have to," he continued. "You've got something worth more than a few days of fun and torment." Angelus smiled. "Sometimes, it really pays off to listen to Drusilla. My first thought—" He twirled the scythe— "was to go hunt you down that day. But then I thought, well, if you really had something that made you invincible, that might not be the best idea, you know?

"So I took a little trip, did a little research. Kept it quiet. After all, I don't want to have the same problem in a few years that you're about to have. I did some reading."

"Fascinating."

"I even looked into magic. But it all seemed a bit unstable, and I want that trinket intact." He ran his hand over the top of the curving blade. "So I settled on doing it the old fashioned way. And the hands on approach is definitely more fun."

Angelus moved forward again, making a casual attempt at Spike's upper body; Spike managed to block the weapon with his axe. The handles crossed and there was a brief struggle for leverage before Spike lost. He jumped back, retreating by necessity until he could get the upper hand.

.

.  
Fighting Drusilla was not as easy as it looked.

You would think that being insane would give a person no sense of strategy. But Drusilla moved like a snake, either avoiding Buffy's sword or countering it effortlessly with the fire poker.

She was also very…looky. But Buffy remembered not to catch her gaze.

Spike and Angelus weren't that far away—just far enough for her not to be any help. Buffy could hear Angelus going on about the gem, and she almost wished Drusilla would say something. She'd gotten used to bantering while fighting. It was part of her routine; it helped her mindset.

As if reading her thoughts, Drusilla spoke. "Soon all the sunshines will be taken care of."

"Uh-huh." Buffy dodged as Drusilla swung.

"I am sorry," she said sincerely. "I did so want a little sister, but I think you'd just take up all of my Daddy's time."

Buffy charged, nearly catching her. "I'm an only child. Not so good with the sharing."

Drusilla brought the fire poker down as Buffy's sword came up. The end of the poker snapped off at the clean impact.

"Yes," Drusilla said. "And I believe you'd break all my toys."

.

.  
Angelus attacked again, swinging wide and low. He was getting predictable like that. Spike hit the scythe with the axe head in mid-arc, snapping the handle of the scythe neatly in two. The half with the blade clattered to the floor.

Angelus flung the other half at Spike in frustration. Spike struck quickly, catching him across the chest. The metal of the axe dug into Angelus' flesh, but not deep enough to cut his heart.

Wounded and unexpectedly disarmed, Angelus attempted to draw back, only to trip on the remains of his scythe. The action sent him sprawling.

Angelus was at his feet. One more move and it was over.

Spike stepped forward.

.

.  
Buffy heard the scream.

She whipped around to see Spike falling and blood spurting and Angelus grinning triumphantly from the floor. He had the broken scythe in his hand. The cutting edge was stained red, and there was no question about where it had ended up.

Angelus was crawling halfway to his feet. Spike was down. She could see that he wasn't in completely separate pieces. But it was bad.

Spike's shin was open like a hinge.

Buffy didn't think; she just reacted.

She plunged her sword through Drusilla's stomach. It was by no means a killing blow, but it was the only opening she had. All she needed was a second's distraction.

Pulling out her stake, she raced toward Angelus.

Ten feet away and he whirled the scythe at her. He barely turned around—didn't even stand—but threw it behind him with an adept carelessness. And unquestionable accuracy.

She was too close to avoid it. Even as Buffy tried to evade the spinning projectile, it sliced into the side of her stomach as it flew past.

She thought it was strange that it didn't hurt.

But it was wet. She was wet.

She knew it was blood. But if she didn't look down, it hadn't happened. Don't acknowledge it and it won't get worse.

Unfortunately, her body had other ideas.

Her knees gave way and she found herself falling to the stone.

Angelus glanced at her over his shoulder. "We can play later if you live. If not, oh well." He shrugged, dismissing her completely, and turned back to Spike. "I have more important things to deal with."

Spike was grasping at his leg. Angelus punched him in the face, sending him reeling back down. He ground Spike's hand under his knee and then bent over, reaching for Spike's foot.

_No._

Buffy forced herself to her feet. She lunged, jumped with everything she had. He never saw her coming.

She landed heavily against Angelus' back. Even as she hit him, she knew that he was the only thing holding her up. When her stake pierced his heart from behind, she continued to fall.

She landed face down, her body sprawled across Spike's midsection. She barely managed to keep from cracking her head against the unforgiving floor.

And she knew she couldn't get up.

Angelus' dust continued to settle over both of them.

.

.  
Spike rolled Buffy to one side and curled to the other, reaching for his foot. Gritting his teeth and tearing his jeans out of the way, he lined up the nearly severed flesh and pulled. Even as the gem started to work, as bones and muscles fused and mended, it burned. Even when the blood-slicked skin showed no traces of ever being cut, a lingering throb remained.

Then there was a shadow over him. He saw Drusilla standing above them, sword raised over her head with both hands and aimed at Buffy.

Spike reached for Buffy's dropped stake. He got to his knees, ready to plunge the stake upward into Drusilla's heart—

When she exploded in a cloud of dust before his eyes.

The Watcher stood in the doorway, arm raised, crossbow still in hand. Spike just stared at him, his stake falling to the stone with a hollow thud.

It was over.

"Spike." Buffy's voice.

She still hadn't moved. Buffy looked up from the floor, her expression vague and displaced.

And he realized she had much more than a flesh wound.

A deep gash crossed the side of her lower abdomen. Her pretty shirt was soaked through and blood was beginning to pool beneath her. Forty seconds ago she was perfectly fine; now she was dying.

"No," he heard his voice saying. "No, no, no." His hands were covered in crimson before he knew it, automatically pressing to staunch the flow.

One of her hands covered his. Spike met her eyes. Her face was pale, but she stared at him like he was the only thing in the room.

"I love you," she whispered.

Despite the current that shot through him, Spike realized what was behind the words.

He swallowed. "None of that, now. You're gonna be fine."

"…have to…tell you."

"You can tell me all you want when you wake up. Tell me then, alright?" His voice shook. "We'll fix you up, pet, get you help, Buffy, just don't—"

She was already unconscious.

A movement and a noise caught his attention, and he looked up to see the Watcher holding out his ripped jacket. Spike took it and tied it tightly around her. But the makeshift bandage was already turning red as he scooped her into his arms.

The other man walked close, his shoulder bumping Spike's as they moved, his hands reaching over to apply pressure on Buffy's wound.

There seemed an unspoken agreement that right now there was nothing but her.

* * *

Xander was standing in the entryway.

There were no sounds from the room ahead. Only a dead silence. Which he wasn't sure was a relief or not, after the anguished, inhuman howl only a moment earlier.

He was debating whether he should stay and guard the door, or see if he could sneak closer and help in some way. Xander was beginning to edge a few feet down the hall when a flurry of movement burst around the corner.

He froze at the sight before him.

"Oh, God."

Buffy looked dead. She was crumpled in Spike's arms, and Giles was walking quickly beside them.

She looked dead.

Some part of his brain registered that if she were dead, they wouldn't be in such a hurry, and would look more devastated than desperate.

Giles tore one of his hands away from Buffy's stomach to fish in his pocket. He threw the keys at Xander.

"Get the car!"

Dropping his axe, Xander plucked the keys out of the air and took off in a breakneck run out the mansion's front door. He passed Willow and Oz, but only managed a "Buffy!" over his shoulder in answer to Willow's questions. They'd see her and figure it out soon enough.

He reached the car in record time, grateful that they hadn't all come on foot. Xander fumbled with the lock of the driver's side door. Only as the keys nearly slipped from his hand did he realize that they were slick with blood.


	86. Wounds

_A/N: Thank you to Legen for helping with the medical bits!

* * *

_

The tires skidded as Xander recklessly pulled up at the front of the mansion. A cloud of dust drifted in the air behind the car.

Giles hurried to open the back door, and Spike slipped in with Buffy. Xander slid over into the passenger seat, and Giles had barely slammed the driver's door before the car was in motion.

Xander wondered if he should have gotten out and walked back with Willow and Oz. He caught a glimpse of Willow's stricken face as Giles pulled out on to the darkened streets.

He suddenly wished he had, despite being worried about Buffy. The atmosphere inside the car seemed horribly uncomfortable. Not tense, but uncomfortable. Or maybe it was just him.

The vampire in the backseat seemed oblivious to both him and Giles, and was murmuring a constant stream of nearly incomprehensible words. Like he really cared about her.

"…don't die, Buffy, God, please don't die, don't die…"

Xander glanced to the back of the car.

Spike was holding her, one hand still pressed to her middle as he rocked her. "…can't leave yet, just hold on…" He ran his hand over her face and then wiped at his own.

Was he _crying_?

He might have brushed away any tears, but he left a wide streak of blood on his cheek.

Xander turned back around.

"Maybe we should have called an ambulance," he said aloud.

"We'll be there in under a minute," Giles said. He ran another stop sign, swerving into the other lane as he skidded around the corner.

Xander glanced at the speedometer. He didn't know Giles could drive this fast. He didn't know this car could _go_ this fast.

True to Giles's word, they were at the emergency room in less than a minute. A benefit of Sunnydale needing a centrally located hospital, he supposed. Xander was the one out of the car before it stopped moving this time, opening his door and then the door to the backseat.

Spike was out the door with Buffy in an instant, Giles close behind them. Xander was left standing on the sidewalk. He felt like he should go with them. But he supposed that he should at least move the car away from the doors. Then he sighed.

"I guess I'll go get Willow and Oz," he said to himself.

* * *

Giles followed Spike through the sliding glass doors. Immediately, Spike turned to the left, going down a short hallway that came out in the ER. The attendant at the reception station stood up straight away when she saw Buffy's condition.

She moved across the floor, gesturing to them and calling for urgent assistance.

"She's been stabbed," Giles rambled, as Spike was laying her down where directed. "She lost a lot of blood, she needs a transfusion and…"

The attendant nodded at him, even as two others took the cart and wheeled Buffy to a station near the wall.

"Do you know her blood type?"

Giles opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Why couldn't he remember that? It was in her medical history, was something a Watcher _should_ know about his Slayer—

"O positive."

Giles turned. The vampire had answered.

"Any known allergies?" she asked, addressing her questions to Spike.

"No."

"Is she on any medication?"

"No."

Giles began speaking to her again, repeating things he'd said before. She gave him forms, asked about Buffy's family.

Spike watched as Buffy was surrounded. Hooked up to an IV and blood. Vital signs monitored. Shirt cut off to examine the wound. Stabilize her and stop the bleeding. Stop the bleeding.

It took everything he had not to get closer. Twenty feet, yet she was farther away from him than she'd ever been. But he knew there was nothing he could do, knew he wouldn't be helping her. So he stood.

It was easy to block out every other sound in the room but her heartbeat. He could hear the beeping of the monitor, but even that was pushed into the background when he focused on _her_. She was still losing blood, but there was more going into her now.

Her heart was slow but steady. Slow but steady.

"Sir? _Sir_?"

Spike realized the attendant was talking to him. He tore his eyes away from Buffy, concentrating on the woman in front of him.

"Sir, you need to be examined."

"No, I don't."

"You're covered in blood."

"It's hers."

She glanced down, looking at his ripped jeans and bloody leg.

"It closed up," Spike said flatly.

"I really must insist—"

"Nothin' to see. Just like everything in this town."

Without another word, he turned and walked away. He stopped when the room separated them, though stood in a place where he could still see Buffy. He could hear the staff talking as they dashed around her.

Ten minutes later, she was gone from the room, whisked to the OR. Disappeared down a hallway, double doors closing behind her.

The Watcher approached him. "I've called her mother."

"Yeah." Spike nodded. "Good."

Spike knew he wouldn't be allowed anywhere near the OR, nor would his trying to get there be conducive to saving her life. There was nothing to do but wait. But he wanted to do something. Anything. He needed to do something besides just sit there.

He needed to get out of these clothes.

He was drenched in Buffy's blood, and it was starting to make him feel sick.

Just then, the rest of the group arrived, all asking questions at once.

"Where's Buffy?" "How's Buffy?" "What did they say?" "Is she okay?" "How long?"

Giles started talking, relating what they knew, which was nothing except that she had been stabilized and taken to surgery.

Spike saw the car keys dangling from Xander's hand. He plucked them away. "Need to borrow these."

"Hey!"

"Now, see here—" the Watcher started.

"Need to change clothes," Spike said.

"I'm certainly not giving you my car."

"I'll go with him," Willow spoke up. She started down the hallway before anyone could protest, pulling Spike behind her. "He's hardly heading for the border. We'll be right back."

"You're alright, Red."

"Thanks," she said. "I think." They walked outside. "Though, really, I wouldn't have figured you'd actually want to leave the hospital. Y'know?"

"Can't do anything. Can't help her. Can't even be with her." He paused. "Her blood's on me. Have to get it off."

Willow nodded. Spike had blood on his hands, blood on his face, even blood in his hair. Doubtless there was blood soaking his black clothing. He looked like he'd just murdered someone and not done a very good job of it.

But she could see where having so much of Buffy's blood on him would be something he couldn't stand. He'd looked disturbed when he said that. _Her blood's on me._

Actually, he looked disturbed and jittery in general right now.

"Uh, maybe I should drive," she said.

Spike paused in the parking lot. "Yeah, whatever." He tossed her the keys.

She was getting good at ordering vampires around. Well, this vampire. And only when Buffy was injured. _Go wash your hands… Give me your keys…_

She led him to where Xander had parked the car, and a moment later they were on the road. Spike was silent except for instructions on where to turn. It was only a few minutes later that they pulled into an apartment building's parking lot.

He looked surprised when she got out after him and started to follow him up.

Spike paused on the metal stairs, glancing down at her in question. He really looked very vampire-y at the moment—looming above her, skin splattered with blood, coat blowing ominously.

"She's, uh, gonna need stuff," Willow said. "When she wakes up. She said she had stuff here since she was staying over?"

"Right."

He turned around and kept going. Willow went after him.

Spike unlocked the door and went in. He disappeared into the bedroom, quickly coming back out with a change of clothes. He gestured toward the room. "Make it quick."

Then he shut the bathroom door, and she heard the shower come on.

Willow found a bag in the closet. She hastily tossed in under things and some loose, comfortable clothing. Minutes later, when Spike came out of the bathroom fully dressed, she darted in and threw anything that looked like Buffy's into the bag.

Then they were gone.

* * *

Spike had thrown away the clothes he was wearing. He'd draped the duster over the bathroom counter; it would have to be cleaned. He'd showered as fast as possible, even using Buffy's fruity bath gel and loofa sponge because it had seemed like the speediest way to scrub his body.

Despite knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do at the hospital, he was beginning to wish he hadn't left. But he'd had to get her blood off. He couldn't sit for hours with the scent of her on him like that. Couldn't stand her blood on his hands.

He put fresh clothes on still damp, hair still dripping. They were back at the hospital in seventeen minutes.

They needn't have hurried. Buffy was in surgery for three and a half hours.

The whole group was set up in a waiting area when he and the witch returned. The Watcher still smelled like her blood, though he had obviously tried to clean himself up. But there was a streak on his shirt. The car had smelled like blood as well.

Spike sat a small distance away from them for the most part. Once, Joyce came over and sat next to him. She didn't say anything; she just sat. The others filled her in about what had happened. They had all talked at the beginning, but now it was mostly silent.

Everyone waited differently. Joyce would sit and then get up and pace. Willow made continual runs to get something to eat. Her boy was completely silent. The other two sat a couple chairs away, the demon girl chattering about anything but what was going on at the moment. Which, bizarrely enough, seemed to help. Giles was distant.

Spike had stopped feeling agitated once he was planted in a chair. He was doing what he should be doing, and was doing all that he could do, even if it was nothing. But after sitting for some time, he ceased to be on edge. He was still uneasy, but there was also an odd feeling of calm certainty. If she had made it this long, she was going to make it. It was only a matter of time until he could see her.

He didn't move for over an hour. Only when he was watching the witch suck on a juice box did he realize how hungry he was, how much blood he must have lost. He stood up without a word. A detour to the blood bank suddenly seemed like an excellent and necessary distraction.

When he came back, the Watcher still looked deep in thought.

"She can't die," Giles suddenly announced. They all looked at him. "The prophecy. She's to be the longest-lived Slayer."

Spike gave a hollow laugh at the mention of the prophecy. "You work the rest of it out?"

"What?"

"You know, the other bit." He looked lopsided at Giles and raised an eyebrow.

Moments later, comprehension dawned. "You."

"Yeah." He grinned. "Me."

"You know, she could just stay in a coma or something," Anya said.

Giles closed his eyes in exasperation. "Yes, thank you, Anya. That did occur to me, but I was endeavoring to be positive."

"She's gonna be fine," Spike said, voicing what he'd been thinking. "She's a Slayer. If she made it in there this long, she'll make it out. Slayers don't die in hospitals after the fact."

"What do you mean?" Joyce asked.

"It means," Giles said, "that in all likelihood, the greatest danger has already passed. Once she was stabilized, her body should have started mending itself. Slayers have accelerated healing."

Spike didn't think Joyce looked entirely convinced, but she looked slightly less worried, which was something, he supposed.

An hour later, a doctor approached them. "Mrs. Summers?"

Joyce stood, followed by Spike and Giles. "Yes?"

"Your daughter is out of the OR. She's stable, but her condition is still serious. The wound bled excessively and was fairly deep. She's lucky it missed her kidney. She was caught just under the ribs, and there is some internal organ damage, but nothing permanent. The next twenty-four hours are critical, but we're expecting her to make a full recovery."

"Thank goodness. Where is she?"

"In ICU."

"Can we see her?" Spike asked.

The doctor turned to him. "Are you family?"

"Yes, she's my wife."

He said it without hesitation, without the pause that someone who wasn't family would give. Buffy had complimented him once—he'd taken it as a compliment, at any rate—about his being good at casual lying.

"She most certainly is not," Giles said.

Spike spun on him. "Were you there?" he barked.

The horror on the Watcher's face would have been comical had the situation been different. He was obviously contemplating the possibility that they might actually be married.

Joyce, for her part, said nothing one way or the other. "I want to see Buffy."

"Of course. If you'll just come with me."

No one said anything as Spike walked behind them.

* * *

The room was silent except for the steady hum of the machines. Wires and tubes and bags all hooked up to her. She looked frail and pallid.

But she was alive.

And she was going to stay alive. She was patched up. She might be weaker and more fragile than she'd ever been, but Slayers didn't die once they were fixed. They got better, bounced back. Spike had no doubt that she was already healing inside.

Though he couldn't forget the way it had felt when he wasn't sure they'd make it to the hospital in time, when he wasn't sure the ER staff could stop what was so quickly going downhill. There had been no relief then, just a horrible existence of second to second anticipation and anxiety.

And even now, the knowledge that she would live did nothing to combat how much he hated seeing her like this.

"What happened?"

"What?"

"What happened?" Joyce repeated. They stood on opposite sides of Buffy's bed. The doctor had left. "The others said things, but you never did."

Spike shrugged, sighing. "Not much to tell. Everything happened fast. I went down, she turned around, and he cut her. She dragged herself up and drove a stake through his back. We won. It was over, but she was out. Then we got her here."

"You were hurt?"

"I was."

She frowned at his tone of voice. "But you're not anymore."

"No."

"I see." Joyce looked back down at Buffy, running a hand over her forehead. "I hate this. I hate it, and I hate that there's nothing I can do about it. I hate that she has to fight." She shook her head. "I knew it was dangerous, but I never thought—"

"Yeah, this is bad. But she's gonna pull through." Spike paused. "And she'll never be fighting alone."

"I'm glad that she has someone to rely on." She glanced back up at him. "You saved her."

Spike shook his head. "She saved me."

* * *

Buffy's friends went home after midnight, after they'd spoken to Joyce and it was clear that she wasn't going to wake up anytime soon. The Watcher might have left sometime after that. Spike wasn't sure, as he'd never left her room.

He stayed the night, as did Joyce, though she had eventually gone just out of the room and into the hallway where there were several chairs to stretch out on. Spike sat on a chair in the room, awake. Not that he would have slept if he'd wanted to. He hadn't said anything aloud, but there was a small but unlikely chance that some vamp would hear about the Slayer being in the hospital. It was a bit too soon for word to get around, but he wasn't taking any chances.

So he sat in the near darkness, watching her all night. His eyes were automatically drawn to her again and again, only to sadden at how bad she looked. She didn't have any injuries showing—no cuts, no bruises on her face—but she just looked so little and sick. He hadn't even touched her besides one brief stroke of her hair, too afraid that he'd mess up something that was attached to her.

He talked to her some, in between the nurse's rounds, his voice low as the words flowed. Sometimes they were mindless words; sometimes they were things he would have told no one but her. But they were nothing that he hadn't said already when she was awake. She knew.

And she loved him.

Spike had known it was there, had sensed what she'd felt, but hearing it was different. So different. It was everything he'd wanted. When she'd first said it, it had been almost too much to bear that he might never hear those words again, that she might not make it.

But sitting her beside her bed now, he knew she wasn't going to be snatched away before they had a life together. So he thought of the future, instead of replaying the past.

* * *

The group was back throughout the next day, or so he heard. Joyce was in and out. She left several times, getting something to eat and talking to the others.

Buffy opened her eyes in the afternoon. He was alone with her.

Spike was at her side as she slowly looked around in a daze. Even when her gaze finally settled on him, he couldn't tell if she was coherent or merely conscious but out of it from the morphine.

Her lips twitched, and the words that escaped were so soft that even he barely heard them. "Hold me," she breathed.

Spike put a hand on her shoulder, as much contact as he was willing to risk without upsetting something. He leaned down and planted a kiss against her forehead, pausing before he pulled away.

"I've got you."


	87. Recoveries

Despite waking up occasionally, Buffy remained mostly out of it on Thursday. She opened her eyes a few times, and said 'Hi, Mom,' once, but that was it. Joyce stayed the night again, though Spike could tell that she never really went to sleep in the chairs outside Buffy's room. At dawn, she left, informing him that she had to get a few good hours.

Buffy woke up again that morning.

"Spike…"

"I'm here, pet." He shifted the chair, leaning in closer.

"I love you."

"And I love you."

"Have to tell you," she said.

He smiled, stroking her hand. "You just did."

"Mm." She closed her eyes again. "I don't feel good."

"Perfectly understandable."

"I saved you," she said drowsily.

"That you did."

"I love you," she said again. "It's not a secret."

Spike got the impression that Buffy wasn't all there yet. But he nodded. "Love you, too, Buffy."

She was awake, but out of it, for most of the morning. She 'talked' with Joyce once, and had some juice for lunch. It wasn't until after a nap in the afternoon that she seemed to be together.

"Hey," she said weakly.

"Hey." Spike touched her face. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Really tired." She frowned. "What day is it?"

"Friday." He paused. "The thirteenth."

Buffy almost laughed. "Figures. So…nearly two days." She closed her eyes like she was trying to remember. "We won, didn't we?"

"We did."

"I killed him. And then I fell. Drusilla…"

"The Watcher got her."

"Oh." She was silent. "How's your leg?"

"All healed up."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Buffy pouted weakly. "That's not fair. I wish I had a magic thingy."

"Yeah, well, then we would've had someone tryin' to cut your leg off." He paused and then squarely met her eyes. "Thanks, by the way."

"It was nothing," she said. "I save you—you save me. Right?"

"Right."

Spike squeezed her hand. For a moment, it was silent.

"What?" she asked. "Why are you looking at me like that? Alive, here."

"I hate you being hurt like this."

"No," Buffy said, shaking her head. "I'd rather have this than have you not be here. He was going to kill you. I did what I had to do."

"But it should never be you instead of me."

"It wasn't. I saved you. And then you saved me."

He shook his head. "If we hadn't had the car—" Spike broke off.

"Hey, it doesn't matter. We made it. Both of us. It was close, but we made it," she said firmly. "And that's that."

* * *

Buffy's bandages were changed shortly afterward. It was the first time that she'd really been awake while it was done. She fixated on the ceiling, obviously not wanting to look down. Spike watched clinically, more or less unbothered. He'd seen worse. Hell, he'd done worse. And while he didn't like the fact that she had a four-inch gash on her, he was no longer distressed enough not to see how things were coming along.

"That's…interesting," the doctor finally said.

"What? What is it?" Buffy asked, clearly worried, but still looking up.

"Nothing to be concerned about, I assure you. The opposite, really. It's remarkable progress for just under forty-eight hours. Quite extraordinary."

"Oh. Well, good."

"You should be out of here in no time at this rate," he said, flipping the chart shut. A moment later, he was speaking to Joyce, who had slipped into the hall while he looked at Buffy's wound.

Buffy glanced down at her right side, which was now covered once again. "Do you think it'll scar?"

"Don't know," Spike said. "It was deep, but Slayers also heal different."

"Maybe it won't be too bad if it does."

"It's not the end of the world."

"Please, this isn't going to be sexy like your scar. This is going to mess up me wearing bikinis."

"It had better not."

She laughed, something it seemed he hadn't heard in the longest time.

Joyce came back in. "They said they're moving you to a regular room, Buffy. Apparently you're healing unusually fast."

"It's a perk," she said.

"I'm glad you get some perks. Only fair, I suppose." Then the amusement faded from her face. "I just wish the catches weren't so hard."

"I can't help it, Mom. I have to do it."

"I know," she said, resigned. "I just don't think I realized how much I hated it. I wish you had an easier life."

"I felt like that at first. But I can't change it, so I deal with it."

"I suppose I haven't had to deal with it until now. And I hope I won't have to deal with it like this again," she said. "Not for a long time, if ever."

"Well, that definitely makes two of us."

"Three," Spike said.

"He's a perk, too," Buffy said.

"Am not."

"Maybe not a Slayer perk, but unquestionably a Buffy perk." She nodded decisively.

* * *

When Buffy was moved to a new room, her friends were lingering in the hallway to see her as expected. Spike waited until she was settled and then said, "I'm gonna step out for a bit, luv."

She nodded, and he kissed her on the forehead.

Spike caught the Watcher in the hall.

"I'm goin' up to the mansion. Catch any stragglers."

"Er, good."

Spike lowered his voice. "No one should know the Slayer's in hospital, but if they did, there are ways to get about durin' the day."

Giles opened his coat to reveal a stake and holy water. "I won't be leaving her room."

He followed the others into Buffy's room as Spike left.

.

.

"I understand you were very brave," Anya said.

Buffy smiled. "I guess."

"Xander said you were brave, but from what I also understand, he didn't actually see the fight."

"She was brave," Giles said, entering. "I saw the end of it."

"Hey, Giles."

"It's good to see you, Buffy."

"Though way to make us worry, Buff."

"Not like it was her idea," Willow said.

Buffy looked at Willow, trying to place what was different. "You cut your hair," she said.

"Yeah." Willow grinned. "Sort of a 'yay, we survived!' celebration." She fingered the wispy ends that fell just above her shoulders. "And look, so did Oz. He's blond."

Buffy glanced at Oz. "I like it."

He nodded. "Blonds have more fun."

"I'm not sure about that," she said. "Not feeling the fun right now, myself."

"Buffy does need her rest," Joyce spoke up. "I know you're all glad to see her, but a short visit is probably best for today."

After thirty minutes or so, everyone began to leave. Buffy couldn't believe how tired she was from just talking and being awake. She actually did need her rest.

Soon just Giles and her mother were left in the room.

"I'm going to run out and get something to eat," Joyce said. She gave a small laugh. "I've got to have something besides hospital food."

"It's okay," Buffy said.

"You're sure you don't mind, honey?"

"Nope, I'm just gonna be sleeping."

A moment later, her mother was gone.

"You don't have to stay, Giles," Buffy said as he settled into the corner chair.

"I do, actually."

"Why?"

"I certainly don't want your mother to worry any further, but you can't be unprotected in a public place in the state you're in."

"Oh," she said, realizing. "Yeah, I guess helpless Slayer is like sitting duck. Where did Spike go? Not that you can't dust a vamp," she quickly continued, "but where did he go?"

"To take care of anyone who came back to the mansion."

* * *

There were six vampires in the house when he went in. It was about what he'd expected. As he had said to the Watcher before they'd gone in that night, most of the minions would be out hunting already. Given the short amount of time he and Buffy had been in the mansion fighting, Spike doubted that anyone but the Watcher had actually killed any vampires.

Six inside, and none of them made it out. Spike had brought nothing but a stake, and he'd taken his time. He had gone through the house silently until he'd found them. Then he'd drawn it out and had his fun, enjoying the fight and never finishing it the first chance he got. The two that had tried to escape through the sewers he'd toyed with the longest.

The violence was cathartic. After two days of doing nothing but sitting in a chair, it was exactly what he'd needed.

Although he was wanting to get back to that chair.

But he walked through the house again. It was easy to tell which room had belonged to Angelus. Besides the fact that it was the biggest bedroom and smelled like him, there were a number of papers scattered about—all drawings of Darla.

Drusilla had had a separate bedroom, though they no doubt slept together. But here were her dolls and ribbons and dresses, all neatly organized and waiting for her.

Spike suddenly felt…something. He wasn't particularly sad—he'd been a breath away from killing her, and would have done so without hesitation. He should have been the one to do it, but he was also oddly relieved that he hadn't had to. And a part of him still wished he could have sent her on her way somehow. Even if he didn't want to see her again, the idea that she was out there was one he would have liked.

And he and Dru used to leave possessions in a trail all over the world. Possessions were hardly important to them. Leave it if it didn't fit in the suitcase, leave it if an angry mob was after you, leave it because you got distracted and never came back.

But she would never leave something behind again.

Spike didn't mind the thought of her things sitting here forever, but he knew that wouldn't be the case. Someone—human or vampire—would come in eventually, go through them, carelessly casting aside the last of Drusilla's treasures.

On impulse, Spike decided that he would come back, pack up some things. He'd leave them underground, somewhere dark and quiet, somewhere they wouldn't be disturbed. It didn't mean anything. It was just a few dresses and dolls, nothing more.

He probably wouldn't be able to get rid of anything of Buffy's when the time came, not the smallest insignificant item.

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut—there was a very good chance that he was going to outlive her. He'd always known, of course, that she was human and he was a vampire, but he had never been so forcefully confronted with it. Someday Buffy would die, and he would still be here.

Spike slammed a mental door. It would happen when it happened, and nothing would change it. But he wasn't going to think about it. Ever.

He needed to get back to the hospital.

He'd do something with Drusilla's things later. Also, he reflected, it might be fun to burn some of Angelus'.

* * *

When Joyce came back, Buffy was sleeping. "How long has she been asleep?"

"Almost since you left," Giles said.

"Ah." She sat down in the other chair. "Spike isn't back?"

"No." He paused, putting a hand to his head. "They're not actually married, are they?"

Joyce laughed. "Not that I know of."

Giles looked at her inquisitively. "But you have no problem with them being together?"

"I suppose I don't. I want her to be happy. And I don't want her to be alone with what she has to do."

"And you know what he is."

"A vampire."

"He's a killer, a murdering demon."

She was silent, as if collecting her thoughts. "I never asked Buffy, but I assumed he had some sort of past that was less than…ideal."

"That's one way of putting it. And it's a not so distant past," he said tightly.

"Maybe. But I haven't seen anything to suggest that it's not the past."

"We're all a product of our experiences. He's still what he is, regardless of what he is to her."

"You got somethin' to say, Watcher?" Spike had appeared in the doorway. "Why don't you ask me?"

Giles stood. "Perhaps some other time."

* * *

Giles returned to Buffy's room before he left for the evening. Her mother had already gone home. Buffy was awake again, though she seemed drowsy. She was saying something, and while he couldn't make out the quiet words, she sounded like she had just woken up.

From the doorway, her shape in the bed was mostly obscured by Spike's. He was on the left side of her bed, one foot on the floor. The bed was in the upright position, and Spike was halfway lying next to her. His body was turned to her, one of his arms around her shoulders. Her head lolled to the side, and his mouth was inches from her throat as he said something in her ear.

She was weakened and helpless, lying in the arms of a vampire who could snap her like a twig in her current condition. And yet, he wouldn't.

Suddenly, Spike turned, glaring over his shoulder at Giles. He didn't speak, but the message was clear. _You're intruding. Get out._

Without a word, Giles turned and left.


	88. Visits

Spike noticed that there were an increasing number of flowers being delivered to the hospital early the next morning. It wasn't until he saw someone pulling a bundle of balloons down the hallway did he realize why.

It was Valentine's Day.

Perhaps he should have remembered earlier, but he'd been a bit preoccupied. That, and the fact that he'd only slept about two hours in the last two days. Spike glanced at Buffy, who was sleeping. Valentine's Day, and she was in the sodding hospital.

They hadn't talked about it or planned anything, but surely they would have done something. She would have wanted to do something.

Spike stood, walking to the nurse's station, all the while keeping Buffy's doorway in view. He leaned on the counter and smiled.

"You got a phonebook?"

An hour and a half later, Buffy's room was filled with flowers. Every surface, even the floor, had bouquets and baskets. She was still asleep. The deliverymen had brought the flowers up, but Spike had carried them into her room himself. He was setting down the final piece when someone walked in behind him.

"Wow."

Spike turned. It was the brunette nurse who always tried to talk to him.

"Looks like you bought the place out," she joked.

He shrugged. She checked on Buffy and wrote something in her chart.

"She's your wife?" A pause. "Girlfriend?" she asked, when he didn't respond.

"One or the other," he said flatly. He usually had a good sense for people, but he could never quite tell if this one was just chatty or was trying to chat him up. At any rate, talking to her annoyed him.

She closed the chart and gave him a put off look, though she left without saying anything else.

Spike sat down and leaned back in the chair. He looked at Buffy, threading his fingers through the ends of her hair.

"She's my everything."

* * *

When Buffy woke up, she noticed something was different in her room. She stretched and yawned, pushing the button to incline the bed. Spike was sitting next to her in the chair. And there were flowers everywhere.

"It's much prettier in here than when I went to sleep," she said. "I like it."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. And thank you."

"What makes you think it was me?" he asked, deadpan.

She laughed. "Come on, Spike. You're just sitting there, not commenting on the appearance of mysterious flowers. Besides, who else would do it?"

He smiled. "Well, you've got me there."

"But why all of them now?"

"It's Valentine's Day."

"Oh. I guess I sort of forgot, what with the near death experience. But it's a very nice present." Buffy looked around again. "What did you do, call up the florist and say, 'Send over one of everything?'"

"More or less. So what do you like?"

"For future reference, I hope?"

"Maybe."

"Well, I like the roses. And the lilies. And those," she said, pointing. "I like those, and I'm not even sure what they are." Buffy inhaled. "It smells so flowery in here."

"It smells sickeningly sweet," Spike said, wrinkling his nose slightly. "Don't know what I was thinking."

"Too much for a vampire?"

"It's a little stifling."

"Well, it's much better than that hospital smell. I can't imagine that's any better for you. But I definitely like them."

Buffy scooted over on the bed, and Spike joined her. She leaned back against him, and he wrapped one arm around her, mindful of her injury.

She sighed. "I suppose this isn't the ideal way to spend Valentine's Day in bed."

Spike pressed his head to hers. "I think it's just fine."

Buffy relaxed, her head settling against his shoulder. It was quiet and peaceful, and even though it was the hospital, it suddenly felt like a Moment. She would tell him.

Buffy craned her neck back, looking up at him. "I love you."

"I love you."

She must have gotten a funny look on her face, because he said, "What?"

"Nothing," she said. "It's fine. I guess I was just expecting more of a reaction. It's the first time I've told you, is all."

Now Spike was the one with a funny look. "Buffy, you've said it twice."

"Huh? When?"

He shifted. "At the mansion, when you were—down. And then when you woke up here."

"Oh," she said, her face falling. "I don't remember. I guess that's fine. Was it…memorable?"

"It was." Something flashed across his face. "Of course, I also thought I might never see you wake up again."

"Oh. I don't remember," she said again.

"What do you remember?"

"I remember fighting Drusilla," Buffy said slowly. "I remember him cutting me. And then I killed him and I fell. And then…I was here. I don't know, I remember sometime yesterday. But it's not like I only said it because I was dying or drugged up," she added. "I knew I loved you before that…I just couldn't find the right time to tell you."

Spike kissed her forehead. "You can tell me all you want."

Buffy smiled. "I might just do that."

* * *

Her mother came by for a long visit, though her friends were in and then quickly out. Apparently since it was Valentine's Day, and since they were coupled off, they had plans. Giles arrived just before sunset, and Buffy could tell the moment he walked into the room that he wasn't really here for a social call. And he didn't comment on her pretty flowers at all.

"May we talk?"

"Yeah. I guess." She gave Spike a look, and after a moment, he untangled himself from her and stood.

"Got an errand to run anyway," he said.

As Spike walked out, Giles pulled the chair back several feet and positioned it where he could sit facing her. "Forgive me for taking advantage of having a captive audience."

"You want to talk about Spike."

"Yes."

She sighed. "Okay. What, exactly?"

"I will admit that despite being a vampire, he seems to care for you."

"But?" she asked, hearing it in his voice.

"But I still question the wisdom of associating with him."

"After everything you've seen him do for me?"

"You may have reason to trust him, but I don't. Spike has done something for you; he's done something against many others. I know what his past is."

"So do I."

"Do you know how impulsive he is? This may be perfectly satisfactory at present, but what happens when he changes his mind? When he decides that it's no longer amusing to—"

"To be with me?" she asked, arching a brow.

"To play at this," Giles said.

Buffy narrowed her eyes. "I'm not a game to him. And he's not impulsive about things that are important to him."

Giles scooted the chair closer. "I'm merely concerned, Buffy—and justifiably so, I believe—that the appeal of this particular situation will wear off, and that one day you'll find yourself with a vampire who no longer wants what you do. You'll trust him, and you won't know that the rules have changed."

"Spike is not going to turn on me. He's had plenty of chances to kill me if he wanted to. He doesn't want me dead and he never will."

"Yes, and that would be the definition of 'turning on,'" he said. "Changing from one objective to another without warning."

"That's just what Wesley said, that Spike was going to get bored playing nice, get bored with me, and just do it one day. But you're not getting it. He loves me. There's no turning on that. There's no changing that. And he's never going to do anything to hurt me."

Giles stared at her, pensive. He was trying, she had to give him that. He was actually considering what she was saying.

"We have a relationship," Buffy continued. "It's real. It's serious. It's not always easy and it's definitely complicated, but it's _not_ something he's trying out. In fact, you have no idea how hard it was to get him in a relationship—God, now I sound like one of those girls whose only goal is to land a man. What I mean is, he actively avoided getting involved in the beginning; it's not like he thought dating a human would be a fun new experiment." She paused. "The things Spike's done for me—you don't do those for a casual fling. He's never going to hurt me."

Giles was silent for another moment. Then, as if it pained him to admit it, he said, "It is true that you were bleeding all over him and he didn't do anything…vampiric."

"It's not like he hasn't had my blood before." The words in her brain escaped from her mouth. Maybe it was the morphine. Maybe she was sick of lying to everyone.

Giles was flabbergasted. "He's fed off you?"

"'_Fed off_?' God Giles, Animal Kingdom much?"

"You gave him your blood? Willingly?"

"Yeah. I do." She crossed her arms. "And it's our business, and clearly I'm still here, so that's that."

Giles took off his glasses, polishing them while he searched for something to say. Finally, he said, "You put yourself in danger every time you let him drink."

"No, I really don't."

"It's a risk to your life."

"It's really not. And I don't think we can discuss this."

He looked like he was going to continue to argue. But he only said, "If something happens to you because of him—"

"It won't," she said firmly.

There was another silence. Giles exhaled and leaned back. "And you say that he's doing nothing?"

It took Buffy a moment to realize what he meant. "Spike isn't hurting anyone," she replied. "He's not killing. And he won't be."

"He does what you say?"

"I'm not…his boss. But he's not going to do what he knows I can't live with."

"I see." Giles paused. Then, "I have noticed that he's ruthlessly protective of you."

She frowned. "And this is a bad thing we need to talk about?"

"And if it's not a demon after you? What happens if it's someone human?"

Buffy fell silent. It was only for a second, but Giles's eyes suddenly widened.

"It's already happened, hasn't it?" he asked shrewdly. "He's done something to someone before." He exhaled again, putting a hand to his head. "There's nothing about this whole situation that I shouldn't report to the Council, you know."

"Don't, Giles. Seriously. And not just because I'd like to avoid them. But if they send some SWAT team after me, I don't think—I won't be able to stop him. The last person who actually seriously threatened me—Spike—he…"

"And what do you think you could stop him from doing?"

"Well, I stopped him from killing you," she snapped. Upon seeing his face, she quickly continued. "The Cruciamentum. He was so angry about—what you did to me."

"I see." Giles cleared his throat. "You realize this isn't making a case in his favor."

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure as long as you don't try to kill me, we won't have that problem again."

"I hardly call it 'trying to kill you.'"

"What would you call it?" Buffy demanded. "Taking away my powers without telling me—I was walking around after dark having no idea that I was just a girl again. The next idiot vampire around the corner could have killed me before I'd ever done your stupid test."

"It was not 'my' test. And the point of the Cruciamentum is for the Slayer to be resourceful and not rely on her strength."

"Which is all well and good, except for the fact that of course I'd be relying on my strength, since I thought I had it and all!"

He ignored her point and said, "I assume Spike took issue with my involvement."

"Yeah, you could say that. Turns out he does call stupidly risking my life 'trying to kill me.' So…yeah. He wasn't happy. But—it's fine now. Obviously that's something that I couldn't live with."

Giles fell silent again. "Whom did he kill before?"

Buffy sighed. "Remember when I said I was almost kidnapped?"

"He killed someone for trying to kidnap you?"

"No," she said evenly. "He didn't kill someone for just trying to kidnap me. There was more. And I don't want to talk about it."

Giles regarded her. "And you're fine with that being the solution?"

"No, I'm not fine. But given what was going— I just can't summon the outrage. Maybe that makes me an awful person. I didn't find out until much later what he'd done. But it was done."

He shook his head. "You've got a vampire practically killing at your command—"

"Now you're reaching."

Giles's expression said that he was anything but reaching. Connecting the dots wasn't hard. A vampire who would not kill because she said so would certainly not have a problem doing what was natural for him if she purposely turned the other way.

Buffy looked at him squarely. "I'm not the commandy type."

* * *

Spike came back later, and revealed a box of chocolates once they were alone. They spent the evening cuddled together in bed, him intermittently feeding her candy. Despite her being in the hospital, it was really the best Valentine's Day that she'd had.

Buffy was released the next morning. She was given antibiotics and pain pills, and a long list of things that she wasn't supposed to do and the length of time that she wasn't supposed to do them. Even as the doctor was talking, she could tell he didn't believe it himself. It was obvious that in only four days, she had healed more than most people did when they came back for a checkup. Buffy was already planning to miss her appointment, because she surely wouldn't have an explanation for being perfectly fine by then.

Joyce was still running on overprotective and worried mode, and had insisted that Buffy come home to finish 'recovering.'

Buffy hadn't objected, but as she'd gotten settled in her room, said, "Spike's staying here, too."

"Buffy, we talked about this."

"I can just as easily lie around over there," Buffy said. "But I'd rather do it here. There's an easier shower, more food, and Spike doesn't know how to cook. But I want him here with me. We're hardly going to be getting up to anything," she said bluntly. "Internal injuries, remember?"

Joyce sighed. "I suppose."

And that was that. Spike was sleeping in her room ten minutes later. And he was really sleeping. Abruptly, she realized that if there had been a chance of some vampire finding her in the hospital, Spike had probably stayed awake all night when he was there with her, and had only gotten a bit of sleep when the others were there during the day.

Buffy sat down next to him on the bed. It was rare that she got a chance to see him actually sleep. Usually, if she was awake, he was awake. Or he would wake up quickly, some internal sense alerting him that he was being watched. But now, he was completely out of it. He was peaceful and still and totally relaxed.

She could just sit here with him.

But she heard the sounds of her mother letting Willow and Xander in downstairs. Buffy slowly got up and went down to see them. She was able to get around just fine now. It was nothing like it had been the first time she'd gotten out of bed at the hospital. Slaying was still out, but everyday activities were no problem.

"Hey, it's the Buffster under her own power."

(She still thought the thing where she had to be pushed in a wheelchair from her hospital room to the car was stupid—especially with everyone trailing behind her.)

Willow and Xander were helping her mother carry in the rest of the flowers. "Where do you want these, Mrs. Summers?" he asked.

"Just anywhere. The coffee table is fine," she said, setting down a vase. "Really, Buffy, this was very sweet of Spike, but I don't know what we're going to do with all these."

"Just spread them out," Buffy said. "I like them. And I already left some of the smaller things at the hospital. One of the nurses said she'd put them in a few rooms to brighten them up."

Willow set down a bouquet. "I think it's romantic."

She sat down on the couch with Buffy as Joyce left the room. Xander planted himself in the chair.

"Well, that and saying he's her husband to get into ICU," she continued.

"Spike said what?" Buffy asked.

"You didn't know?" Willow asked. "The doctor asked if he was family, and he was all, 'She's my wife.'"

"I…didn't know that." Buffy bit back a smile. That was sort of romantic. Then she sighed. "I talked to Giles yesterday."

"And?"

"He's still, y'know, coping with Spike. He's worried something horrible is going to happen in the future, even if things are fine now. Though I think he's coming around. I didn't expect him to be automatically okay with it. I'm just glad he didn't jump right to 'kill the vampire.'"

"That is what we do most of the time," Xander said.

Buffy turned to him. "And what about you?"

"I suppose he's all right. For a vampire. That I've only known for five days." He sighed. "Look, I'm not going to be the guy that starts the vampire fan club. I don't like vampires. I pretty much think they're bad. But, this guy seems to have a major like for you, and there _is_ a surprising lack of bloodshed following you around. So, I'm neutral. I'm Switzerland."

Buffy nodded. "That's fair."

"Willow filled me in on things. I'm willing to take your word for it…and see what I see. I'm not ready to walk alone down a dark alley with him, but I don't think he's plotting our deaths, either."

"Oh, he more than likes her," Willow said.

"He was crying when we brought you to the hospital," Xander admitted.

"Spike was crying?" Buffy asked. "Actually crying?"

"They were very manly tears," he said.

"I'm sure."

Spike in tears and pretending to be her husband. It wasn't totally inconceivable, given the circumstances. But wow.

After Willow and Xander left, Buffy went upstairs and curled up next to Spike. He stirred long enough to put his arm around her and then went back to sleep. He was completely still beside her. Buffy lay awake for a long time, just enjoying it. She and Spike had spent plenty of time together in the last few days, but it was so good to be home.

There was no noise echoing from carts rolling down the hallway, no nurse coming in to check on her, no patients grumbling outside. Just her own bed, a semi-dark room, and the muffled sounds of midday—a car driving past, birds chirping, someone's lawnmower. It was unbelievably refreshing.

But she was still tired. Even as she was enjoying the quiet afternoon, she found herself drifting off. Buffy ended up dozing for most of the day, hanging in that drowsy place that's just short of being conscious. She was aware that she was sleeping the afternoon away, but she couldn't quite slip out of it enough to fully wake up. But it was peaceful and perfect here with him, so she stayed.


	89. Resolutions

The next afternoon found Spike at the mansion. It was empty and deserted, and he was halfway disappointed that there weren't any more vampires there to kill. But it seemed like he had only walked through once before he heard someone else in the building.

Silently, Spike made his way toward the back rooms. He saw a figure walking down the hallway and looking in doorways as he passed. It was the boy. Xander.

"Hey," Spike snapped, getting his attention.

Xander jumped, pointing a crossbow at Spike from down the hallway. After a second, he lowered it. "Oh. It's you."

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted to look around."

"To look around," he echoed.

Xander walked down the hall. "Yeah. I mean, it's kind of like… Angelus was this thing in town for years, and we were always looking over our shoulders. It's just nice to really see that he's actually gone, to know he's not up here."

Spike smirked. "Little dangerous, don't you think?"

"Well, it is daytime. And I'm armed. And I can take care of myself." He paused. "And, uh, Giles said you already cleaned the place out."

"That I did."

"So why are you here again?"

"None of your business," Spike said.

"Hey, how'd you get here? It's daytime."

"You think a place like this doesn't have sewer access?" He hadn't come through the sewers, but that was beside the point.

"Oh. Right."

There was an awkward silence.

Spike turned and went back down the hallway. "Have fun," he called over his shoulder. He went back to Drusilla's room.

Spike heard him walking around the place, heard him finally come back to the doorway, where he paused.

"Don't touch the dresses," Spike said.

"Yeah, because I came here to touch the dresses."

Spike turned to glare at him.

Xander threw up a hand. "Okay. Got it. Dresses will not be touched."

Spike turned his back, finishing putting Dru's things into the carpetbag. He zipped it and set it aside.

Then he stepped out into the hall, not giving a word of explanation about what he had been doing. He regarded Xander with indifference. "So. You wanna set some stuff on fire?"

Xander considered for a moment. "Yeah, okay."

.

.

They started with the minion's rooms. Spike had no particular reason to burn those things, but well, sometimes it was just fun to burn things. Piling up everything in the middle of the room and setting it ablaze was just satisfying. Some rooms were empty, and some rooms, like main room, seemed to have already had a fire started in them.

He didn't even mind the company. The boy was clearly on board with the destruction of Angelus' property, and there was something nice about sharing a little mayhem with someone.

The main room had a dried puddle of Buffy's blood on the stone floor, as well as his own blood. It also had the remains of the scythe, which he picked up to throw into the next fire they lit.

Angelus' room he saved for last. He pulled the clothes out and threw them on the mattress, piling the scattered papers on top as he lit them. Spike pulled out a drawer from the dresser. He dumped the contents into the fire and started to throw on the drawer.

"Wait!"

Xander was standing with an arm out, half reaching for the dresser drawer.

"What?"

"That's just—a really nice dresser." He stepped closer. "Um, carpentry is sort of my hobby; they don't make them like that anymore. As fun and weird as destroying things with you has been, I'd just hate to do it to that."

Spike paused. "You want it?"

"Huh? Sure, I guess." His brow furrowed. "Really?"

Spike shrugged, setting the drawer on top of the dresser. "Not like it was really his. Probably came with the place. Anyway, someone should do some looting. Only fitting."

"You don't want to loot?"

Spike looked back at the fire. "I'm only interested in kindling. Take whatever you want."

"Okay. I will." Xander paused. "Don't suppose you want to help me get it in the truck?"

"I really don't."

He nodded, stepping back. "Didn't think so."

Spike pulled a package of cigarettes out of his pocket, taking one out and lighting it off the growing flames. Nearly everything Angelus had touched was nothing but ash. His lips curled into a smile as he watched the blaze burn. Not a bad way to start the day at all.

* * *

Giles spent the evening on a rather long phone call to Wesley. He did feel a slight obligation to keep him apprised of such a large development as Angelus' defeat and Buffy's accomplishment. However, Giles also wanted to know about Wesley's history with Spike, despite his initial statement that the other Watcher had gone mad.

Somewhere during the conversation, he'd decided that he needed a drink. Presently, he was still drinking Scotch, and Wesley was still talking.

Wesley had seemed interested, though not entirely surprised, Giles thought, that Spike was here with Buffy. Apparently he'd recently had an odd phone call from Buffy out of the blue. When Giles had asked where Wesley had originally thought that Spike had disappeared to, he'd responded that he'd never expected to hear from Spike again, regardless. Whatever arrangement they'd struck had been destroyed by Spike's persistent interest in Buffy.

_"Odd as it may sound, we had a perfectly functional working relationship."_

_"Until he attacked you," Giles said._

_"I may have said something…inflammatory. At any rate, until the issue of Buffy, it was what you might expect."_

_"Mercenary-like contracts."_

_"Yes, I suppose," Wesley said._

_"How could you do business with a vampire?"_

_"Since I left the Council, I've assisted and been assisted by a number of demons. In fact, only recently, I became aware of an empathic demon. He's quite personable and has really been rather helpful—"_

_"I'm perfectly willing to argue the benign nature of certain demons," Giles interrupted. "But we're talking about a vampire."_

_"I didn't intend for it to happen. I told you how we met. Later, I was given his name when asking about solving a particular problem. Things progressed from there."_

_"And Buffy?"_

_"For better or for worse, Buffy's first contact with a vampire was one that was not trying to kill her. Quite the opposite, in fact. And for better or for worse, Spike met her under unusual circumstances. Frankly, it never occurred to me he would actually care."_

They hadn't exactly argued, though Giles hadn't agreed with everything that Wesley had done. But then, he'd never fully agreed with Wesley.

As far as Buffy's relationship with Spike, Giles did have to admit that it didn't seem to affect her judgment where other vampires were concerned. He also had to admit that Wesley's initial objections, as well as his own concerns, seemed unsupported at this point. Buffy didn't appear to be in any danger from Spike, immediate or otherwise.

Still, none of that meant he was particularly pleased with things, or didn't have other minor concerns. But it was perhaps less dire than it had first seemed.

Finally hanging up the phone, Giles poured himself another glass.

But he hadn't had fifteen minutes peace before there was a knock from outside. Giles opened the door and saw the last person he expected to see: Spike.

"We need to talk."

"This precise moment?"

"Yeah," he said, pushing past.

"Now see here, you simply can't just walk in—"

"I can, actually. Got an invite." He smirked. "Your fault, that."

Giles stiffened. "My judgment at inviting a stranger in was perhaps impaired in the heat of the moment. But frankly, it never occurred to me that a vampire would bring an unconscious and bleeding Slayer back to her Watcher's door."

"I'm full of surprises."

"Yes, that's what worries me." Giles still had his hand on the doorknob of the open door. But it was obvious that Spike wasn't going anywhere. "Also, I must say that this isn't making the best impression."

"Yeah, I should probably work on that." He didn't seem sarcastic. He sounded resigned, like he actually needed to improve interacting with people. "But not right now. Told you, we need to set a few things straight. Also, I did go by the store first, but you weren't there."

Spike sank down on the sofa. Giles shut the door and walked over.

"Relax, Watcher." He grinned. Then he gestured to the glass in Giles's hand. "You wanna get me one of those?"

"No." Giles sat down in the armchair. "What do you want?"

"Went by the mansion earlier," Spike said. "Brought you something." He fished into his coat pocket, pulling out some papers folded in half. He held them out to Giles.

Giles took them, finding several charcoal sketches.

"I burned most of his stuff, but there's nothing he'd hate more than having those filed away in Watcher records."

Giles looked at the drawings again. "These are of Darla, correct?"

"Yeah."

"Yes, well, er—thank you. I will of course add them to our files." He set the papers aside. And took another drink. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to get inebriated with a vampire in the room, but he was already halfway there.

Spike watched him. "And what else will you be addin' to your files? What I've been up to?"

"Is there a reason I shouldn't?"

"It would put Buffy in a bad spot, for starters."

"Yes, it would."

"She's right, y'know," Spike said casually. "She wouldn't be able to stop me."

"Ah." So he'd listened to their conversation at the hospital. "And yet Buffy said you weren't killing."

Spike brought his hands together. "I'll kill anyone who comes after her, whether she wants me to or not."

"And you don't think that would put a strain on your relationship?"

"Less of a strain than if she's dead."

"Ah."

"You got a problem?" he asked.

"Of course I wouldn't have a problem with a vampire killing," Giles scoffed. "Whatever would make you think that?"

"You ever killed anyone, Watcher?"

Giles didn't immediately answer.

"That's a yes," Spike said, a knowing look in his eye.

Giles stiffened, sitting up straighter. "I've taken an oath to protect this world. Sometimes that means doing what others can't. But I take no pleasure in it."

"I'd protect her."

"It's different."

"Because I'd enjoy it?"

"Because you're a vampire." He took another drink.

"I'd do what she can't. I told her I wouldn't jump straight to it, but if that's what it comes down to, yeah, that's what I'm gonna do." He tilted his head. "So before you get it set in your head that you need to go makin' some report, I'm tellin' you, I'll kill any Council wankers who come pokin' their noses around her."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's what will happen." He paused. "Not you, though, just them."

Giles shifted. "And why not?"

"Because it would kill her."

Giles hesitated. "She said that after I—"

"You could have gotten her killed. And you made me hurt her."

"What?"

"You," he said, leaning forward, "made me hurt her. When you did your test. Those marks on her arm? I didn't know she wasn't at her best. Didn't know I could have broken her arm or leg or neck."

"I did what I had to do." Giles fell silent. He brought a hand to his head, absently rubbing it. Then he said, "I've already decided that I'm not going to inform the Council of your involvement with Buffy. Regardless of how I feel about you, she's an excellent Slayer. One of the best I've ever seen. And contrary to what you might think, I don't wish to endanger her. I don't want to see her hurt—rather the opposite, really." He paused. "And loath though I am to admit it, you make a formidable team. You defeated Angelus admirably."

Spike actually grinned. "That we did."

"He was a challenging opponent, but you fought well." Giles brought the glass up again, but found it empty. "Amazingly well."

He set his glass down on the table, trying to collect his thoughts.

There was one other thing. Something he hadn't said a word about, something he wondered if Wesley had been dancing around. And perhaps it wasn't the wisest topic to bring up, but the combination of curiosity and slightly impaired judgment led him to looking at Spike and saying:

"I saw your foot nearly get cut off. It went through the bone," he clarified. "And yet, two minutes later, you were able to carry Buffy out with no difficulty."

"Yeah?"

"There's only one thing I know of that could do that. But it's myth; it doesn't exist," he said with finality.

"Right. It's not real."

There was a strained silence.

Giles started to say something more, but Spike changed the topic. "Drusilla."

Giles remembered the expression on Spike's face the very second Drusilla had turned to dust. He remembered taking a small step backward, even though the room had still separated them.

"She was going to kill Buffy," Giles said. "It was the first open shot I had. You were going to kill her," he added.

"She was _mine_ to kill." Then he sighed. "But maybe—it was good that I wasn't the one to do it." He stood and walked to the door. "I'll let you get back to getting pissed."

"I was not—"

"Sure you weren't. I'll tell Buffy she doesn't have to worry about the Council. Unless you wanna tell her?"

"I—I'll tell her."

"I'm sure she'd like to hear it from you." He sounded almost genuine.

The door shut behind him.

* * *

Everyone was in and out over the next several days. Buffy was still 'convalescing' at her mother's house, though she was really feeling fine. A week of healing with Slayer abilities and she was almost new. But she wasn't in any hurry to patrol, as things seemed truly dead. Whether Angelus' demise had made the remaining vampires lay low, or whether they were scrambling without a leader, there had been little to no activity according to Giles.

Joyce continued to fuss over her. Spike rarely left. Not that she was complaining about the latter.

Her friends came by at different times. Xander had apparently had some weird bonding time with Spike as they'd demolished things, and Anya was ecstatic over free bedroom furniture. Willow said Giles had questioned her regarding when she'd known about Spike, and she said he'd also mentioned talking to Wesley.

So Buffy was prepared when Giles came by to talk to her. It was even convenient; Spike was upstairs asleep. However, she wasn't prepared for the first words out of Giles's mouth.

"Spike has the Gem of Amara."

Buffy stared at him as he stood over her. "And?"

"You _knew_?"

"Well, yeah, the whole vampire-in-broad-daylight thing kinda tipped me off."

Giles shook his head. "A vampire as dangerous as Spike should not be allowed—"

"Allowed?" Buffy cut in.

He regarded her. "You could take it from him while he's sleeping."

"Yeah, just like he could drain me while I'm sleeping." She crossed her arms, slumping into the couch. "Neither one's gonna happen."

"Buffy—"

"Spike has always had the gem. The situation isn't any different just because you know about it now. Nothing has changed, Giles."

For a moment, they stared at each other. Then Giles looked away and sat down in the chair.

"Is this going to be a deal breaker?" Buffy asked.

"I suppose…not. Honestly, I'd suspected something since I witnessed the end of the fight. I did some research, but I didn't know for certain until he confirmed it."

Buffy was sort of shocked. "Spike told you?"

"Not in so many words, no." Giles paused and then sighed. "I'm not going to tell the Council about your involvement with him."

"Thank you. I mean it."

"Or about the prophecy."

She nodded. "But what about the 'latest called' part? I mean, surely they've noticed I'm older than the average Slayer. Aren't they curious about the why?"

Giles looked at her squarely. "The Council is remarkably indifferent to the Slayer as long as she's performing adequately. They don't ask questions about things that aren't important to them. You're only a concern if you don't do your job."

"They don't, like, have some secret spies that will tell them if you don't?"

He smiled a humorless smile. "I am their 'secret spy.' A Watcher's role is not only to train and guide the Slayer, but also to alert the appropriate people if she gets out of hand."

Buffy exhaled. "So this is more than just not telling them. This is not doing your job."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I care about what happens to you. Because after consideration, I do think it's the right thing to do, even if I don't entirely agree with every decision you've made."

"That means a lot, Giles. Really."

"I might have neglected to mention it, but your performance against Angelus was nothing short of extraordinary. It was truly well done." He looked down for a moment. "But speaking of the prophecy, I do have one point to make. Don't assume every challenge will be easily overcome. Don't let yourself become careless, or let what was written go to your head. Longest life does not necessarily mean quality of life."

Buffy nodded. "Right. Good point. Not a happy point, but a good point."

"Regarding Spike, I only have one more comment to make."

"Okay."

"I am mostly convinced that he won't do anything you don't wish him to," Giles said reluctantly. "And he…does care deeply for you."

"There's a but."

"What?"

"You're going to say but."

"But, the only thing stopping him from killing is himself. There's nothing beyond the fact of him saying that he won't."

Buffy frowned. "And that's a bad thing? Do you realize how that sounds? I mean, the only thing stopping _you_ from killing is _your_self."

Giles was silent for a moment, apparently trying to wrap his head around her logic. "Yes, but I am not a vampire." he finally said. Then he leveled his gaze at her. "And what's more, it's not him. It's you. You're the only reason he's doing what he's doing. Spike commands a great deal of power. And you have power over him."

"I know."

"You're the only thing standing between him and—well, perhaps not killing us all—but killing, certainly."

She looked down. "I know."

"And are you prepared to take that responsibility?"

"There's not responsibility. It's not like I've got some metaphorical leash," Buffy said. "He knows what's wrong, what I can't live with. And he won't do it. It's that simple. It's not like I'm having to constantly hold him back."

"And in the future?"

"What do you mean?"

"I won't deny that he seems to have no problem doing whatever you ask. But beyond that? What happens when you're no longer here to give him a reason?" He paused. "What if you had died a week ago?"

* * *

Giles hadn't meant to upset her. Not really. He wasn't trying to drive a wedge between her and Spike; he'd grudgingly accepted that she was going to be with Spike, and he wasn't even telling the Council. That said a ton right there. But he was concerned about the dynamic of their relationship. He'd said as much afterward. He only wanted her to think about things.

The problem was, she couldn't stop thinking about them.

It was a day later, and she and Spike were sitting on her bed, both leaning back against pillows.

Buffy was skimming through the rest of the magazines her mother had bought her. They were things she used to read, not things she really read anymore. Joyce had meant well, but the magazines had articles about high school, choosing the right college, and movies that she wasn't interested in.

But whatever, she could still look at the fashion pages.

Spike, bored by her silence, but not bored enough to go downstairs and watch daytime TV, had picked one up. He mostly just shook his head as he flipped through it, though Buffy guessed by the amused noises he was making that he had found the 'embarrassing stories' page.

Then he threw the magazine down and picked up another, opening it at random.

"You actually used to read these, huh?"

"I was in high school."

"Uh-huh."

He turned a page. "Here's one of those quizzes you were talking about." Spike snickered. "Maybe we should take it, pet."

"Ha ha," she said without looking up. Buffy was studying the clothing ads. It seemed like pink was going to be in this summer.

"'Testing Your Relationship,'" Spike continued in a mocking voice. "'Part 1, The Basics Of Your S.O. 1. What is his favorite food?'"

"Are you going to kill people after I'm dead?" she blurted.

The room was suddenly very quiet. The ideas that had been rolling around in her head all day chose now to simply bubble over. 'Favorite food' was an insignificant question. To most couples, it would be an offhand fact. But for her and Spike, well, not so much.

Buffy risked a glance at Spike, who had gone still. His jaw ticked, and he looked like he was making a concentrated effort to collect his thoughts.

Slowly, he closed the magazine and turned to regard her. "Do you sit around trying to think of ways to make our life more difficult?"

"Huh?"

"Every time I turn around, you're asking some question I know I've got the wrong bloody answer to."

"So you're going to?"

"I don't know!" He threw the magazine to the floor. "I haven't thought about—after you. Bloody hell, Buffy, I don't want to."

"I don't _like_ thinking about it, but I know it's going to happen sometime. So, I was thinking about it, and you. You're only not killing because of me. So when I'm not here someday—"

"Yeah, I'm doing it for you," he snapped. "You're not here—not much reason to, is there?"

"You'd be bad again."

"I'm bad right now."

"No, you're not. You're just…not good."

Spike sat up fully, planting one foot on the floor. "No, I'm not good. I'll never be good. But for you, I can not be bad." He looked pained. "Why are we talking about this? I thought we'd settled this."

"We settled the now. I just wondered about the later."

"What do you care what I do after—you're gone. It won't matter." He glanced away. "Nothing will matter then."

Buffy looked down, letting her own magazine fall to her lap. "If you go back to doing that, maybe…it's like I didn't matter."

"That's not what it's like at all," he said. "You matter. You always will. So much, Buffy."

"But—"

"That has nothing to do with remembering you, loving you. You're more than that. You're not something that's only reflected in what I eat or don't eat. You think that's all you amount to for me? You think I've even wanted to think about after you?" He paused. "I don't know what I'd do. But—I never said I'd changed, Buffy."

"I know that you're a vampire—"

"You keep sayin' that, but I don't think you do. I do things for you. Because I love you. Because I need you. Because you need me to. But it's hard, pet, hard to stop doing what I've always done, what I want to do. And now you want me to do it not just for the rest of your life, but for the rest of my life?"

She was silent.

"Why can't you ask me something normal, like will I love you when you get old, or will I love again after you're gone?"

"Because that's not what I want to know."

Spike's hand clenched a discarded magazine. "What the hell do you want from me? Every bloody thing I've done I've done for you. Isn't that enough?"

"I suppose it will have to be," she said flatly, looking down again. "Sorry I brought it up."

There was a stony silence, and both of them stared away, not looking at the other.

Buffy broke the silence first. "I don't want to give you blood on Saturdays anymore."

He snorted. "This some sort of punishment?"

She glanced up. "No. I've been thinking about it for a while. I just don't want to pay you anymore; it's hardly business."

"So now I don't get any Slayer blood, and I'm still not supposed to kill."

"You're only not killing people because of Slayer blood?"

Spike sighed. "No, not for your blood, for _you_. But the blood was a nice tradeoff. Can't say as I didn't take it into consideration when I was thinkin' about things."

"Look, I didn't say I'd never give you blood. I just don't want it to be so…required feeling. I don't want a schedule. It's something intimate. I don't want to owe it to you; I want to give it to you. That's what I mean. I don't mean it like a bad thing."

"Alright." Then he stood.

"Where are you going?"

"I just need some air, luv." He didn't look mad anymore, just sort of sad.

"But where are you going?"

"For a drive."

As she watched him walk out of the room, Buffy wished she hadn't opened her mouth at all.


	90. Choices

_A/N: Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! They mean so much!_

* * *

At first, he had just driven. He didn't have to think of anything when he was flying over the pavement, the roar of the engine in his ears.

Predictably, he eventually ended up in a bar. It was an average little place two towns over; he'd been on the highway long enough and here was where he decided to stop. After getting a drink to start on, Spike planted himself in a booth at the back. Predictably, once he no longer had distraction, he started thinking about Buffy.

Whenever he thought they'd gotten something settled, she found a way to unsettle it all. Was this how it was going to go, cycles of them being perfectly fine until she brought up the same question with different words?

He just hadn't been able to deal with it right then, again—when they should have been perfectly happy in light of recent events.

Her words had been cutting. It wasn't that he thought he wasn't enough, but that what he'd struggled to do wasn't enough, would never be enough for her. Stop killing. Now stop killing forever, even though he wouldn't have her by his side to make it all bearable.

Spike halfway suspected that she hadn't come up with this recent question on her own. It probably came about during one of her talks with the Watcher. But that was neither here nor there.

She said that she knew he was a vampire, yet his not acting like a vampire seemed to be something she thought she should automatically be given.

Spike finished his first drink, tilting his head back. He set the glass on the table.

But he'd given it to her. Given her all she had wanted from him. Wanted then, at least. He didn't necessarily believe that she was saying one thing and thinking another, but she seemed to reconsider what was acceptable.

Buffy hadn't asked for anything directly today, but she'd wanted to know what he'd do if she wasn't here. And her not being here was _not_ something he thought about. Spike wasn't totally sure what he'd do. But it did seem likely that he would do as he'd always done. He'd never made a pretense about changing.

She'd seemed more or less fine with this. Buffy had reluctantly accepted his past and what he'd already done as long as he stopped and didn't do anything now. Apparently the future was another story.

Spike stared at the empty glass, and then he stood to go get a refill.

It had nothing to do with her or what she meant to him. It had to do with what he was. Curbing himself for her was just that—for her.

She didn't understand. And she didn't understand that she didn't understand.

* * *

Buffy moped around for the rest of the afternoon. First she was annoyed, but that quickly passed. Then she was uneasy and bothered, replaying their conversation in her head and trying to figure out where it had gone so wrong. Finally, she was back to annoyed, but at herself.

The house was too quiet. Her mother had gone back to work at the beginning of the week after it was clear that Buffy didn't need her constant care. TV was boring, and she sure wasn't reading any more magazines. In fact, she'd thrown all the magazines in the trash.

Buffy went out. She drove around town, went to the coffee shop, and window-shopped at the already closed downtown stores. She really hadn't been in the mood to do anything, though. After evening fell, Buffy did patrol for the first time since her injury, but she didn't find a single vamp.

She eventually ended up at Spike's. Buffy sat in her car, staring up at his door. She sat there for longer than she should have. Then she made herself get out. Right. She would go up, talk to him, and…fix it somehow.

Buffy got out of the car and made her way up the stairs. She knocked on the door. No one answered. Well, he was probably still out…driving or whatever. She knew he liked to drive. The door was locked, and Buffy opened it with her key.

Abruptly, she was struck that she had never before used the key he'd given her. Every other time, he'd been here or they'd arrived together.

Buffy closed the door. She checked to make sure that he wasn't there and then sat alone on the bed. After a moment, she lay back, rolling on her stomach and burying her face in the sheets. The sheets didn't smell like anything but detergent. Huh. Spike had done laundry.

She checked her watch. It was after nine.

Maybe she should call him.

Buffy sighed, folding her hands under her chin.

She was starting to feel really bad; she hadn't meant to upset him. _She_ was used to being upset after they talked, but Spike never got upset. If anything, he got mad. He'd done a little of that, too, but it was the other that was bothering her.

Buffy had just asked a question. She hadn't actually asked him to not kill people after she was dead, but she had to admit that she'd hoped the answer would be that he wasn't going to. Somehow, that had turned into her insinuating that if he did, she must not mean anything to him, and him asking if anything he did would ever be enough for her.

Not exactly what she'd planned. Though she really hadn't planned any of it; it had just happened.

A part of her mind whispered that everything he'd done he _had_ done for her. Everything she'd asked, he'd done. Even though he said it was hard for him, even though he admitted he didn't find much wrong with doing what vampires did.

_You know he's a vampire._

She knew that, she did. But it was still hard when she was forced to face the stark reality of how very human he wasn't, and she couldn't help wishing it were just a little easier. She couldn't help wishing that they didn't look at things so differently. But no matter what Spike did for her, he wasn't going to stop being a vampire.

And she didn't want him to be. He wouldn't be Spike.

What _did_ she want from him?

She'd wanted him to stop killing. That was all she'd ever wanted, and she'd gotten it. She would like him to say that he would always stay like this, but maybe that wasn't fair. Maybe this was the compromise, and this was as much as she was going to get.

She had no control over what he did after she was gone. She might not like it, but was it going to be a deal breaker, something she was prepared to lose the now over?

The answer was immediate: _No._

Buffy impulsively reached for her phone. She dialed Spike's number. It rang several times, and when he answered, there was noise in the background.

"Spike? Where are you?"

He told her the name of a town she only vaguely recognized.

"What? Why are you there?"

"Just ended up here. Told you, went for a drive."

"Oh. Um, look, I didn't mean to—"

"Never do, do you?" he asked.

"I wanted to talk to you. About today."

"Rather not do this on the phone, luv."

"I'm sorry about what I said. I didn't mean—Spike? Spike?"

Her phone beeped. Buffy pulled it away from her ear and looked at it.

He'd hung up on her. Spike had _hung up on her._

She wanted to apologize, and he thought she was going to go off again. She wanted to tell him it didn't matter, and he was out getting drunk. Buffy put the phone in her purse and walked out of the bedroom. He didn't want to do it over the phone? Fine.

* * *

Drinking hadn't really helped the frustration. It had just sort of mellowed him. He had been less tense, but frustrated. Buffy's recent call hadn't helped, either. It had just made him annoyed again, irritably wondering what she wanted to 'talk' about now.

Spike took another swig from the bottle.

Killing someone usually helped him get out of this sort of mood.

Though that didn't say much for him, did it? If he went and killed someone after he'd had a fight with Buffy about killing people.

On the other hand, no matter what he did, it seemed like it wasn't enough. Why bother doing anything? Buffy would never know.

Spike sighed, knowing he wasn't going to. He'd told her he wouldn't, and he wouldn't. But, he considered, that didn't mean he couldn't window-shop. Purely hypothetical stress relief.

Spike scanned the crowd. The bar was swinging now, and there were lots of people talking and drinking and playing pool. He visually moved from person to person, automatically and instinctively sizing them up. He finally picked out a girl who was sitting by herself at the bar.

She had light brown hair and was wearing jeans and a form-fitting top. More importantly, she was uncertain, out of her element. A stray.

Spike watched her off and on as she finished her fruity drink. If he could have killed someone, that's who he would kill. There was something almost soothing in the knowledge that he could, even if he wasn't going to.

However, when he caught sight of the girl moving through the crowd, Spike finished what was in his bottle and stood up after her. She headed down the hallway to the bathroom; he walked behind her without a sound.

Was he doing this to prove something? What _was_ he doing? He wasn't going to kill her; he had no intention of killing her.

She turned and went into the bathroom, never knowing what was behind her. He turned to the adjacent door that obviously led out into the alley.

The door shut behind him.

He stayed in the alley. Alleys were also familiar territory. Cars and people went by on the nearby street while he had a smoke to clear his head. It was just as easy to do nothing out here as it was to do nothing in there. And he was done drinking. It hadn't been his intention to get dead drunk, but if he went back in there, he might.

Sometime later, the door opened again, and he watched from the shadows as a hormone-driven pair came out, kissing and groping at each other.

Typical.

But after a moment, Spike realized two things. One, the girl was the one he'd been watching inside, and two, the guy was a vampire.

He watched as the vampire maneuvered her up against the wall, as he went from kissing her to biting her. She screamed. Stupid fledgling didn't even know to cover their mouths. It was one thing if you wanted them to scream, it was another to attract unwanted attention. But then again, the screams usually stopped once you had a good hold. And hers did.

He should kill the vampire, he supposed.

Spike pulled the stake out of his pocket. The vampire never saw it coming; a second later, his dust was floating to the ground.

The girl gasped, putting a hand to her neck while crying and sniffling. But she didn't immediately move. She was nervously glancing between him and the alley exit behind him, some sort of mental alarm going off that she might not be completely saved.

It was probably the way he was staring at her neck, or the way he'd already gotten too close to her. Or possibly the way he'd licked his lips. Spike remembered watching her inside. She was already bleeding out; he wouldn't even have to bite her.

Buffy would never know.

No. Even if it was so tempting and easy, he wasn't going to break his promise to her. Even if she didn't understand how hard it was, he wasn't going to do something he'd already said he wouldn't.

Although, he could just lean in and take a taste. There wouldn't be much harm in that; she'd already been bitten.

His tongue darted between his lips again. They were barely a foot apart. Spike leaned in closer, his arms caging her in, his head tilting down. He reached up to pry her hand away from her neck.

Then he paused, finally resting his head against the bricks.

"Just go."

She made a choking sound, but she slowly scooted out from under him. He didn't move to make it easier for her. She shuffled away, only breaking into a run when she was past the dumpster.

Spike turned and leaned against the wall.

After a moment, he lit up another cigarette. Only after he'd smoked two more did he decide to leave the alley himself. He slowly walked out, going around the building and into the bar's parking lot. He'd had some time to himself, some time to think, and while he didn't feel particularly better, it was time to leave.

And then he saw a very familiar car pull in.

* * *

Buffy stopped her car next to Spike's bike. Okay, he was definitely in there. She would go in and find him, and then talk to him. Turning to open her door, Buffy jumped when she saw someone standing right outside it. Then she realized who it was.

She opened the door and got out, gravel crunching under her feet.

"Buffy."

"Um, hi." Buffy closed the door.

Spike frowned at her. "What are you doing?"

"I'm coming after you."

A hint of a smile graced his lips. "I was coming back, luv."

"I know. But I have something to tell you. And you turned your phone off."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. It's better in person, anyway."

Spike leaned against the side of the car. "How did you find me?"

"It's a small town. When I got here, I stopped at a gas station and asked where the bars were."

Spike was silent, obviously waiting for her to speak.

"I'm sorry," Buffy said. "I'm sorry for how things got out of hand earlier. Of course I don't want someone different, something different. You're what I want. You're who I want. And I know you've done so much. It _is_ enough. You gave me what I asked for; I haven't given you anything."

Spike's look softened. "I haven't asked for anything from you, pet."

"That's not the point. The point is that a relationship is compromise."

"I do understand how you can't live with things," he said. "That's why I don't do them. For you."

"I know. And…that's the compromise. Later—it doesn't matter later. Because I won't have to live with it. I might not like it, but I'm not going to ask you—what I sort of asked you today.

"I _do_ know you're a vampire. And I know that means a lot of things that I can't understand because I'm not a vampire. It's just that sometimes it's really hard for me to deal with. Sometimes it hurts to think about things. But that's my problem, not yours. So, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to end up like that this afternoon. And I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

Buffy bit her lip, waiting.

"Well, that's alright, then," he said.

"Really? We're okay?"

"Yeah."

Buffy turned, leaning next to him against the side of the car. She looked at the neon lights on the front of the bar.

"What you just said, Buffy, it means something," Spike said. "Really."

For a moment, they stood together in silence. The night was warm, and the bar was the only business on the strip that was still open. Presently, a girl came out the door and quickly headed toward a car. Buffy automatically noticed that she had something on her neck and wasn't looking so well.

The girl paused when she saw Spike. She met his eyes from across the parking lot, and then she looked at Buffy. But she didn't come any closer.

"Thank you," she said. Then she unlocked her car and got in.

"Who was that?" Buffy asked.

"A girl I saved."

A breeze blew.

"I might not kill people after you're dead," he offered, looking straight ahead.

"Oh?"

"Never know what might happen." Spike shrugged. "If long enough goes by without doin' it… Not that I'm aiming for it, mind. I'm just saying."

"So I should plan on living a really long time, then."

"Should plan on doin' that anyway."

Buffy smiled. "But you might not?"

"Might not," he said. "But I might, too. But it depends on me, not you. You get that?"

"I think so."

"I'd still bite people, though, even if I didn't do the other," he added. "Vampire."

"You are. I know." Buffy paused. "And you know I really didn't mean the thing I said about the blood like a bad thing. It's just starting to feel weird the way we've been doing it. It just needs to happen when it happens."

"We can do that."

Buffy paused again, glancing down. There _was_ something he had asked her. Spike had given up everything for her. But maybe if this was going to work between them, concessions would have to be made, on both sides.

"I suppose," she said slowly, not looking at him, "that if you saw someone being attacked, you could…deal with it."

"Is that right?"

"Only if it's _really_ serious. And you can't go looking for it; it just has to be if you see it. And you _can't_ kill them. You can't even leave them unconscious, because then something else might kill them. _Just_ a bite. I mean it."

"Alright… Thieves, too?"

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation," she muttered. "Someone beating up an old lady for her purse, yes. Someone busting out an electronics store window, no. Okay?"

There was a short silence. Then Spike slapped his hands against her car. "Right. Back to Sunnydale, then?"

"No."

"No?"

She turned to face him. "I think we should go to L.A. We're already on the way. Get the rest of your stuff from your apartment."

Spike smirked. "Lose the apartment, you mean."

"Well, you're going to be here now. What do you need it for?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"We can make a long weekend of it. Take a little vacation. I think we deserve a vacation," she said decidedly.

"Won't argue with you there."

Buffy smiled again. "All right. Spur of the moment trip!" She glanced at his bike. They'd have to drive separately and meet. "Uh, you're not drunk, are you?"

He waved a dismissive hand. "Been drinking, but not drunk."

A few moments later, they were both in, or on, their respective modes of transportation and heading down the highway. Buffy was in high spirits, and beyond calling her mother tomorrow to tell her where she'd gone, she wasn't going to worry about anything at all for the next few days.

* * *

It was weird and a little exciting to be back at Spike's place in L.A. She had been there twice—the night they'd first made love and the night she'd made the deal with him. Buffy was looking forward to spending the weekend there before he got rid of it.

Unfortunately, after they arrived, several things became evident.

While Spike had paid the rent for several months in a large lump sum, he had neglected to pay things like electricity and water. Also, he'd taken his only set of sheets with him. The result was a hot, dark room with a bare mattress that was less than welcoming.

Buffy stood behind Spike, just inside the apartment.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Buffy left the door open, so there was a minimal amount of light coming in from the street. "I think I have a flashlight in my car. But it's way too hot to sleep here. And, uh, I kinda need to use things that need water."

"Sorry. Didn't really remember that it wouldn't be completely up and going. We could go to a hotel," he suggested.

"I guess we'll have to." She sighed. "We can come back tomorrow in daylight and get your stuff."

"We'll go someplace nice. Make a real trip out of it."

Buffy considered. "I guess. I mean, that would be nice. It's just that I was sort of looking forward to just the two of us."

"We don't have to leave the room, luv."

"I know. But it's different."

"If you've got another suggestion—"

"No, I don't." Then Buffy paused. "On second thought, I _do_ have a much better idea." She smiled, reaching for her phone. "I know someone with a summer house."

* * *

An hour later, Cordelia was unlocking the front door to a trendy looking house in a sought after zip code. It was large, though modest in comparison to the neighboring homes. But still had a tall fence, privacy shrubs, two stories, and a backyard pool.

"C'mon in. Good thing you called when you did, I was just leaving the club." She ushered them inside.

"This is great, Cordy. Thanks. You're sure it's not a problem? I don't mean to put you out."

"It's no big. We mostly use it as a guesthouse now. And no one else has had any guests." Cordelia eyed Spike, who was looking at the big screen TV. She leaned in to Buffy. "You owe me a big talk tomorrow. We need to schedule some girl time. But it's after one and I'm beat right now. Are you two good for tonight?"

"Yeah. Totally. Well, we might run out and get some food or something. And I don't have any bathroom stuff."

"There are new toothbrushes and all that stuff upstairs. Guesthouse. Oh, and even if things are a little dusty, we always have the cleaners in after the place is used. If I'd known you were coming, I would have gotten someone to spruce things up and—"

"It's fine," Buffy interrupted. "I can handle clean dust. This was sort of a totally unplanned trip."

"Okay, then. Here's the key, and I'll leave you two to it!" Flashing a brilliant smile, she shouldered her purse and opened the door. Then she made a face like she had just remembered something. Pulling Buffy in, Cordelia whispered, "There are also some condoms hidden in the tissue dispenser in the second floor bath."

"Um, okay." Buffy nodded. "Thanks."

Spike turned to her as soon as the door shut behind Cordelia.

"Condoms, huh?" He leered and raised an eyebrow.

"Shut up. She was trying to be helpful. You know, since I didn't bring any stuff with me."

"I s'pose you might need some of those on a romantic weekend."

Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck. "Not so much. Which is a definite vampire plus in my book." She smiled. "You know what else is in the second floor bath? A Jacuzzi."

"Is there now?" he asked with interest.

"I know I could use a Jacuzzi on a romantic weekend. Which I think is what we're definitely having."

"I'd have to agree with you."

Smiling, Buffy broke away and quickly started up the stairs. She hoped she looked playful and seductive, like she was daring him to catch her.

Judging from how fast he caught up to her, she did daring very well.


	91. Circles

The secret to having great sex in the water, Buffy had discovered, was to get started before the tub filled up, and afterward, to use more muscle than movement. And as for Spike not having to breathe, well, that had definite advantages. She had gone to bed very happy, to say the least.

Friday morning was lazy. Well, after the sex it was lazy.

Spike had gone out early and gotten some food, so there was a breakfast of muffins and bagels waiting for her when she went downstairs. They had taken a morning swim, and Spike had been disappointed that she wouldn't go skinny-dipping. Buffy had firmly said that skinny-dipping was for nighttime, even in a very private yard. But apparently it was private enough for Spike, who pointedly shed all of his clothing before getting in.

As it was, she had gone swimming in her panties and bra, which she had to throw in the dryer afterward. They had mostly lounged around after swimming, watching TV and just enjoying each other's company.

Cordelia called her around noon, and Buffy took a shower and cleaned up in preparation to go out. She was glad she had makeup in her purse, at least, even though the basic toiletries she'd found had been mostly sufficient.

When she came out of the bathroom, Spike looked like he was settling in for a nap. He was sprawled on the bed and had his shoes off.

"I'm not sure when I'll be back," she said. "We're going out and about, shopping, eating, whatever she wants to do. I need to at least buy something basic, or I'll be washing my jeans all weekend."

Spike shifted, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and opened it.

Buffy stared at the bills he held out to her a moment later.

"They're not gonna bite you," he said.

She reached out, taking them. But she still held them like she had no idea what to do with them.

"You have seen money before, right?"

"Yes, I've seen money," she replied. "But…I can't spend your money."

"Why not?"

"It's weird or something. I can't just let you buy me things."

"Why not?" Spike asked again, looking up at her from the bed. He wasn't arguing; he was really asking.

"I…don't know."

He looked straight into her eyes. "If we were married, what's mine would be yours, and what's yours would be mine."

He'd actually said the M word. _Married._

"Nothing wrong with sharing money," he continued. "We're gonna be that serious."

She knew they were going to be that serious. But the only thing Buffy could think of to say was: "But I don't have any money."

"Sometime, you will. It's not about dollars, pet. It's about life, and we're gonna share everything. I want to share everything with you."

"I do, too." Buffy swallowed. "And…after we get back, I think maybe I should start getting ready to move in. Officially." She smiled. "And I'll leave makeup all over the bathroom, and we can argue about who's going to pay for groceries."

Spike smiled back. "I'd like that."

Buffy laughed. She blinked rapidly, happy, but determined that she wasn't going to ruin her mascara. Then she closed her hand around the bills. "I guess I'll be taking this."

"Buy yourself something nice." He grinned. "Or, if you like, buy me something nice."

"I suppose I could buy something nice for me that you'd like to look at me in."

"Even better."

Buffy started to put the money in her purse. She paused, and then rapidly shuffled through the bills. "Spike, there's like a thousand dollars here!"

"Yeah? You never spent that much on clothes before?"

She'd spent way over that on clothes before… "That's not the point. I know what we just said and all, but—"

"Not like you're gonna be back here for a while," Spike said. "Make it count."

"But where did you get it?"

"Places."

"Uh-huh," Buffy said slowly, lowering her hand. "So, this is like illegal money."

"It all goes into the same spot, love. Maybe I spent my illegal money on rent. Maybe that's the rest of what I got paid from you. I don't keep it separate."

"Well, try to keep it separate," she snapped. Then Buffy took a breath. "I suppose I can't ask you to get rid of it, but I don't want you spending it on me. Save it for…later. Or things for just you."

"All right." He paused. "I've got other money. Perfectly legitimate."

"Really? From where?"

"Didn't steal it, didn't earn it by doin' anything you wouldn't like."

"Then where did you get it?"

Spike folded his hands behind his head and smirked. "I'll show you sometime."

That was all he would really say about that. But after being convinced that what she held in her hand wasn't blood money, Buffy put it in her purse. She had to admit that there was something nice about having money again.

And the shopping trip was suddenly seeming much more fun.

She bought a lot. Cordelia bought more, but Buffy was more than satisfied.

As they'd tried on things, Cordelia had been quick to notice that what Buffy had told her over the phone the last time they'd talked was true.

"You've gotten thinner," she said, as Buffy came out of the dressing room in a slinky, baby blue mini-dress.

Buffy stood in front of the three-way mirror, and Cordelia walked up behind her.

"I might be jealous. Although…" Cordelia reached out, jiggling the straps of the dress. "You've lost a cup size. Maybe more."

Buffy looked down at the low-cut front. "They're…stable now. No recent change."

"Hmm." She peered behind Buffy. "I gotta say, though, your butt looks _amazing_. I need to show you to my trainer and say, 'This is what I want.' What are you doing, anyway?"

"I keep busy."

"No, seriously."

Buffy decided that she could tell Cordelia what she'd been doing, as long as she didn't tell her why she'd been doing it. "Well, I walk a lot. All over town. And I started doing martial arts. One of those classes with, uh, a little bit of everything."

"Well, you look great. And you sound great. I think Sunnydale agrees with you." Then a sly smile spread over her lips. "Of course, it could be the company…"

"He doesn't hurt," Buffy admitted.

They'd talked about Spike as they shopped, and Buffy filled her in on things that had happened, trying to make their relationship sound normal. She was somewhat astonished as she went on that she didn't have to work very hard. She talked about Spike and her mother, more about Spike getting a place, about going out and doing things together, and about how they were working toward moving in together.

It wasn't that far from normal, actually, once you took out the vampire part.

* * *

Buffy came back to the house carrying a large number of brightly colored shopping bags. She'd bought lots of different things—clothing, jewelry, accessories, cosmetics. She hadn't spent all the money, though, and she'd even gotten Spike something.

Spike was watching TV, and he looked up as she came in. After setting the bags down, Buffy walked into the living room.

"You good for now?" she asked. "I've got another errand to run."

"I can come with you."

"I'm going to see Wesley. Catch up on old times."

Spike considered. "Yeah, I'm good here."

.

.

When Buffy walked into the office, Wesley and Fred were both in the front, obviously getting ready to go home for the day.

Fred smiled and did a little wave when she walked in. Wesley just looked shocked. "Buffy."

"I'm going to be the longest-lived Slayer," she announced. "There's a prophecy about me. I make a pact with the forces of darkness, meaning Spike. Spike and I are together. He's stopped killing for me, he helps me slay vampires, and we're going to be very happy."

"I see."

"We're having a little vacation, staying at Cordelia's summerhouse for a few days. We've killed Angelus and Drusilla and Darla, and now there's nothing in Sunnydale but a nice, normal Hellmouth."

"I see." Wesley stared blankly at her. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes. If I can forgive Giles for drugging me, then I can forgive you for keeping things from me. And if Giles can get over me being with Spike, then surely you can get over me being with Spike."

He paused. "Giles performed the Cruciamentum?"

Buffy frowned. "You look surprised."

"I did, in fact, ask the Council to consider not doing it. It was my condition to them in exchange for making your going to the Hellmouth as appealing as I could. Not that I didn't think Sunnydale was a good thing, myself."

"Oh. Well. Thanks for that. I guess they considered it and rejected it, huh? But none of that matters now." Buffy paused. "And I guess that's kind of my point. Bridge with the water and whatever. So. You and Fred wanna go for coffee?"

* * *

-

-

The next morning, she and Spike went back to his apartment. They packed up everything that would fit in her car. He didn't care about the furniture, saying he'd leave it for someone else to deal with. As it was, they moved the TV and its stand, a stereo, a bedside table, a lamp and a clock, a rather nice metal trashcan, an extra blanket, and the miscellaneous junk Spike had in the bottom of the closet. Really, she was glad her car had the trunk empty.

When they were finished, all that was left was the bed and the couch. Buffy stood in the empty room. Spike came up behind her.

"All done, pet."

"Yep."

He wrapped his arms around her, putting his chin on her shoulder. "Had our first time here."

She leaned back against him. "Mm-hm."

"First time sparring, too."

Buffy snorted. "Those are equally as important?"

"Well, one thing did lead to another." Spike's hand slipped up her side. "The absolute last thing I thought I'd be doin' that night was teachin' you self-defense moves." He brought his arm around her neck in a mock hold. "Was fun playin' with you, though. Catch you and let you go. Catch you and let you go."

Buffy put her hand on his wrist, barely twisting as she slipped out of the loose hold. She turned, pressing her body tightly to his. "I'd say you caught me," she said, looking up.

Spike's arms wound their way around her. "Looks like." He raised an eyebrow. "How 'bout one for the road?"

Buffy considered. She _was_ getting kind of turned on. But it was also very hot in the apartment. Obviously, there was still no power, and they had just planned on going by long enough to get in, get the stuff, and get out.

She gave him a lopsided smile. "If you can get in and get out. Make it quick."

Spike grinned, growled, and spun her around. He picked her up and tossed her stomach-down on the bed. She bounced once and reached to undo her pants, pushing them down. Spike crawled on the bed behind her and pulled her up to her knees.

Everything else he did to her was from behind as well.

.

.

Ten minutes later, they were getting into the car. Buffy straightened her bra and turned on the air conditioner. Then she drove Spike to a shabby looking building not that far away where he went in and talked to someone about his not needing the apartment anymore.

They had a small argument in the car about food. Spike was actually in the mood for real food and wanted to go out and eat with her. Buffy said she was hot and sticky and was definitely not going to go sit down in a restaurant for an hour (and hello? she couldn't even clean up because he didn't have _water_ at the apartment). But Spike didn't want to drive through a fast food place. They finally settled on a barbeque restaurant he knew, where she only had to sit in the car for a few minutes while he went in and got them something.

They ate back at the house, and then she took a shower. Spike slipped in with her, which meant that she ended up having to get clean twice, but other than that, Buffy had no complaints.

Cordelia came by in the afternoon and dragged her to the spa and salon. Buffy hadn't planned on going, but once she was planted in a chair getting a facial and a foot massage, nothing could have dragged her away.

They got the full treatment. Buffy also got an impulse haircut.

Cordelia came inside with her when they got back. "You want anything to drink?" Buffy asked.

"I'm good."

Buffy took a bottle of water out of the fridge for herself, unscrewing it and gulping down half the contents. When she set the bottle down, Spike was pausing by the kitchen archway, and Cordelia had a funny look on her face.

"You changed your hair," he said.

"Yeah. Um, you like it?" She'd only gotten a trim and a little layering done. And highlights.

"I do."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Then he continued on his way up the stairs. Buffy turned to Cordelia. "Okay, _why_ do you look like that?"

"Did you see the way he was staring at you?"

"What, just now?"

"Yes, when you were all tilted back chugging that water. He totally paused and was just watching you swallow."

"Huh," Buffy said. It was a vampire thing, the neck.

"I had a guy watch me like that when I ate a Popsicle once," Cordelia said offhandedly.

Buffy snickered. "You're awful."

"I wasn't trying or anything! Besides, it was in high school." She waved her hand. "Anyway, I'll let you go so you have time to get ready."

Buffy walked her to the door and then went upstairs.

Spike was sprawled on the bed, flipping through channels with the remote. "She leave already?"

"Mm-hm." She paused. "What?"

"Thought you didn't want to do a bunch of stuff."

"Well, I know that's what I said at first. But it'd be weird to stay in her house and not do anything with her. Besides, I like seeing her again. But tomorrow, I fully support plans that involve just the two of us and not leaving the house at all."

"Drive back tomorrow night?"

"Yeah, we probably should." Buffy sat down on the bed.

Spike sniffed the air. "You smell like peppermint."

"I got this great massage. They rubbed oil all over me."

He smirked. "We could have done that."

"The point of a massage is to get relaxed, not to get worked up. Anyway, speaking of doing things that are romantic and just the two of us, Cordelia got us reservations at this great fancy place for dinner."

"Well, then, you'd better go get ready."

* * *

An hour later, Buffy was putting the finishing touches on her makeup. Finally done, she stepped out of the bathroom to find Spike wearing the black button up shirt she'd bought him yesterday. He looked nice enough in it and the tight black jeans to get into the restaurant, she thought.

Buffy was wearing a white dress that she had bought. It was strapless and straight and hit just above her knees. She'd put her hair up, leaving a few selective wisps to feather down. A silver chain with a single large rhinestone completed the outfit.

Spike appraised her as she came to stand next to him. "You look good. Really nice."

"Thank you. Do you really like my hair?"

"I said I did. It's still long. Got a little more gold in it." He ran his hand just over the top of her clip. "It looks nice now, too."

"I figured you'd like my hair better down."

"Your hair does look better down," he said. "But your neck looks better with it up."

Buffy giggled. "That sounds like an unsolvable problem."

"I'll just have to suffer through it." Spike kissed her cheek, and then they were off.

* * *

-

-

Buffy slipped out of her dress, draping it over the back of a chair. She took off her panties and wrapped a towel around herself. Then she made her way downstairs and out to the pool. The moon was almost full overhead. At the very edge of the pool, she dropped the towel and slid into the water. Spike was already swimming, slipping back and forth across the pool as he leisurely got closer to her.

They'd had a fun evening. A quiet dinner in a dark restaurant with plush velvet booths, candlelight, and actual violins playing. There had even been a little dancing. Buffy had forgotten how much she enjoyed doing things like that. That used to be her life—social events, fancy dinners, dances, not to mention all day shopping and spa treatments. Not that she had to do those things, but it was nice to revisit them occasionally.

She wasn't dissatisfied with her life now, but she hadn't been dissatisfied with it before, either. It had merely changed. And it wasn't just becoming the Slayer. Her family had changed, her situation had changed, and where she lived had changed. But strangely, she didn't think she had changed. She'd grown up, maybe, but not changed.

Spike neared her, and Buffy grinned and turned around, slowly moving the other way as he pursued her.

Spike hadn't changed. He was on pause—would stop being what he was for as long as he was with her. It was unrealistic to expect a few months with her to give him a total shift in how he saw the world. Maybe that shift would come later, inadvertently; maybe it would never come. But she had to be okay if it didn't. She'd fallen in love with a vampire, and she had known what she was getting into. He had never professed to be anything other than what he was.

While she could ask him to stop doing vampire things, she couldn't ask him to stop being a vampire. But even if he was never good, he was hers, utterly and completely.

The water rippled, and Buffy felt him come up behind her. Spike wrapped his arms around her, a slow caress of her skin under the water. He ever so slowly pulled her back against him. Her feet lifted off the floor of the pool as he continued to move.

Smiling, she leaned back and let him draw her to deeper water.


	92. Epilogue

_A/N: Another thank you to Slaymesoftly for beta-ing! And a huge thank you to everyone who has read the story. Thank you for all your reviews, support, and encouragement! I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I really can't believe it's been almost two years since I started it. And I can't believe it's actually finished. :)

* * *

_

By summer, they had moved in together.

It hadn't taken much effort to move Buffy's things once they decided to do it. She'd already gotten rid of a lot of unnecessary junk when she and her mother had moved from L.A. And most of the furniture she had now was left in what was being turned into the guest room, so there really wasn't much to move at all. Joyce seemed genuinely happy for her, but Buffy could tell her mother was going to miss her being in the house. It was true that she had been in it less and less, but being out of it completely was another thing entirely.

She and Spike had also gotten a different place. It was larger, and closer to campus and to her mother's. It was also a little nicer. But more importantly, it felt like a permanent place, not just a passing-through place. Much as she had enjoyed spending time at Spike's, the apartment had also been Spike's. This place was _theirs._

But the whole process had been a bit strange for Buffy. Once, when looking at apartments, she'd been struck at just how _grownup_ she felt. She was looking for a place to live, making major purchases, and moving in with someone she intended to stay with for the rest of her life. It was a new chapter.

Spike had been interested enough when they went to see apartments together. They had both agreed on getting a different place. But going shopping for furniture was an exercise in frustration at first. Spike didn't seem to have an opinion at all. She'd sensed that he was trying to be sweet and let her pick things, but she finally said that even if he didn't care about the color of the couch, he had to sit on it, too, and surely he had to like one better than the other.

Buffy had also said that since he was more or less paying for it, she expected him to have just as much say in what they bought. It was permanent stuff for both of them. He'd been more attentive after that. Though she _had_ learned not to bring him every time she went out, instead only asking him to come after she narrowed things down and it was time to make decisions.

The one thing Spike had put his foot down about was the glass kitchen table she liked; he said that they couldn't have sex on it. After considering his point, Buffy started looking at other tables.

* * *

Spike had told her about his 'legitimate' money. Buffy supposed it was legitimate, though odd. At any rate, it wasn't illegal, because you could totally call dibs on buried treasure. Getting the gem had been his main reason for digging under the city—apparently the rest was just a bonus. Not long after they got back from L.A., he'd taken her to see it, as promised.

_Buffy crossed her arms. "I am __**not**__ going down there."_

_"Don't be a sissy. It's perfectly safe."_

_Buffy dubiously looked down at the jagged hole cut in the stone, which was revealed underneath the rock he had just pushed away. "Nuh-uh," she said. "Changed my mind."_

_Spike set his lantern down on the uneven floor. "It's not even a three foot drop. You just crawl in. I told you we'd have to get a little dirty."_

_"I've already gotten dirty. We've walked like half a mile through the sewers. And you didn't mention we would practically be spelunking! Didn't you say you just blasted through it?"_

_"I blocked that off a long time ago. Couldn't have anyone else findin' things."_

_Buffy bit her lip, tapping her fingers against her elbow. "You __**promise**__ this comes out on the other side?"_

It had come out on the other side, of course. Buffy wasn't claustrophobic, exactly, but she hadn't liked the idea of getting stuck down there. What if something caved in? But the hole in the floor had opened to a small passageway that got even smaller as it went on. It was uncomfortably close, but it eventually led to a large chamber. In the sharp light of the electric lantern, she could see the glint of gold.

Buffy had walked around, looking at things and sometimes touching them, while Spike slipped several small items in his pocket. There was a good amount of stuff down there. Not a ton, but a good amount. Lots of gold coins and chains, and a few larger, historical looking things, like a crown and scepter. Spike had mentioned that he'd left most of the unique things alone. No one questioned the odd bit of gold, but someone might start asking where he'd gotten something legendary-looking, even in the shady places he sold things at.

_"Okay, I don't get it," she said, bringing up something from their previous conversation. "How did having this make you work? Why not just live off this and do whatever you want?"_

_"Did that for a while. Few years, actually. And I went through—well, more of this than I'd like to admit. Sort of like those blokes that win the lottery and blow it, yeah?" He picked up a gold chain. "Decided I needed somethin' to pad it with, make it last. And to keep up with how I was living."_

_"What did you do for money before?"_

_"Just stole it. Enough to get by on, get what I needed. Hard to do that and stay in one place, though. It's different when you're always moving. Also harder to get enough these days with what people carry on them."_

_"Vampires don't have the patience for credit card fraud?"_

_Spike snorted. "Also, doin' things was fun. Get paid to do what I like."_

_Buffy sighed. "It's sad that that makes sense. But that's what they used to tell us on career day—'Find what you like to do, and then find a job that pays you to do it.' But why didn't you tell me about this?" she asked, gesturing around._

_"Had to make sure you didn't want me for my money," he said, deadpan._

_"Ha ha."_

_"I did tell you when it came up. We'd never talked about money and really livin' together before."_

_"Yeah, I guess. But if this is like your nest egg for eternal life, I don't want to make you spend it."_

_Spike slipped the chain around her neck. "You're worth spendin' it on." Then he smirked. "Still not spendin' all of it on you, though."

* * *

_

She and Spike had fallen into an easy routine of training during the afternoon and patrolling at night. They used the room at the Magic Box, and Buffy had moved all of her Slayer stuff from her mother's house. The training things went back to the Magic Box, and the rest of the weapons went under their bed. She and Giles never sparred anymore, but they did do focused exercises that were more about muscle control than strength.

Sometimes one or two of the others would come on patrol, but most of the time she and Spike were alone. Everyone had gotten used to the idea of Spike. Even Giles seemed more or less resigned to their relationship. He didn't go out of his way to avoid Spike, and they managed to have mostly cordial conversations when they did speak.

There had been some debate, however, about what to tell everyone about Spike's ability to be out in the daylight.

_"I have to tell them something, Spike," she said. "I think they're going to notice eventually."_

_"S'pose."_

_"Well, you __**do**__ go out during the day."_

_"Yeah, but I don't advertise. It usually works out. Not too many vamps about at high noon. And I stay out of the demon section of town."_

_"Look, I do get you not wanting a bunch of people to know. But I don't think we can avoid telling them. Are you just never going to be seen with me until after sunset?"_

_"Wasn't seen with you at all for a while."_

_She rolled her eyes. "And look how well that worked out."_

_"Do you remember what happened last time someone found out that I had this?" he asked, pointing to his foot._

_"Sorry, but I just don't see Willow coming after you with a scythe."_

Finally, they had agreed that Buffy would tell her friends that Spike could go out in the sun because of something magical and vampirey, and that was that. That was all they really needed to know. The exact how of Spike being out and about during the day wasn't important. And Buffy did understand his reasons for keeping it secret.

Giles knew about the gem, and that was enough for Spike as it was. Buffy suspected he halfway considered it some sort of vampire failure that two Watchers even knew he had it to begin with.

Giles had also been researching some information related indirectly to her prophecy. It was a project he had started after their defeat of Angelus. He had been reviewing the Watcher Diaries and looking at the Slayer numbers, so to speak.

_"You must realize, Buffy, that there are great periods of time that we simply have no accounts for," he said, absently turning a page. "The Council itself is relatively young, compared to how long the Slayer has been in existence, which may very well predate the written word. Additionally—"_

_Buffy cleared her throat._

_"My point being that there is no definitive record of how old the oldest Slayer was. However, the oldest one on record was in her mid to late thirties. It's quite interesting, actually. She lived in India in the seventeenth century. She was something of a rogue, and killed any and all Council members who approached her."_

_"Why didn't they send someone after her?"_

_"Until the advent of modern technology, the Council's most powerful weapon __**was**__ the Slayer, which was why training the girls early was the established practice. But the head of the Council at that time chose to leave her alone, since by all reports she was slaying vampires and demons with much determination and success. It's actually a topic that's debated every now and again—whether he was negligent or enlightened."_

_"Nice."_

_"The Council wasn't even originally in Europe," Giles said, looking back at the open book with interest. "It tended to locate itself in the area with the highest level of civilization. However, the English claimed the power of the Slayer as rightfully theirs during the Crusades. At one point, there were actually two Councils who fought each other for control of…"_

He had gone on for a bit after that. But the point was, if she was going to be the longest-lived Slayer, it looked like she had more than a few years going for her. Possibly much more, since there was no complete record of the Slayer line. So what if she had to slay for the rest of her life?

It would be a long one, and she wouldn't be alone.

* * *

-

-

Buffy was officially through with her first year of college. She had just been by the campus to sell her books and get the scores for her finals. She passed with good enough grades, but had come in just under the allowed number of absences, due to her 'car accident' and subsequent hospital stay.

The afternoon was hot but dry, and Buffy put her sunglasses on as she walked to her car. The campus really did look very pretty today, but she was still looking forward to not coming here for a while. Well, not coming here for class. She'd still have to swing by at night and patrol. And she knew the fall semester would come soon enough.

She had been thinking about next year, though. Maybe after it, she would take a break until she could choose a direction to go in. Or maybe she'd only end up doing two years of college at all. There wasn't a particular field she was interested in, and she couldn't think of what type of career she wanted. Maybe just a job would be fine. She had enough to do already with being the Slayer. And it wasn't like she had to worry about saving for retirement. She just needed enough for now. And, well, if she did end up as a seventy-year-old Slayer, she would have no problems with having her young, hot boyfriend take care of her.

Buffy reached her car and unlocked it. She drove out of the parking lot and away from campus, stopping at the grocery store. There were only a few things she needed to pick up, and she was quickly at the register. Buffy handed the clerk her bankcard.

Next semester she was going to look for a job somewhere on campus, though—something to make a little money of her own. She could get some general experience and just do something part-time.

She made it out of the store with only one bag, though she'd bought a hanging plant on impulse to put on their balcony. If she could keep it alive, maybe she'd get some more. A little balcony with brightly colored flowers just seemed like a nice idea.

When Buffy got to the apartment complex, she took her things out of the car and made her way to their door. Spike was home, so it was unlocked.

When she stepped in, Spike was microwaving something in the kitchen, and the TV was on. Buffy set the groceries down.

"Hey." The door shut behind her. "I'm home."

_—the end_


End file.
